Rhythms of Love
by rocketonthemoon
Summary: Collection of one shots with Katniss and Peeta, books 1-3. Fluff and angst involved.
1. Rhythm of Love

**Hi there and thanks for reading. As the summary states, this is a collection of One Shots revolving around Katniss and Peeta. No, there will not be any Katniss/Gale stuff here, so if you're looking for that I'm sorry. In my opinion, Gale had his chance in "Catching Fire" to make it work and he lost it. Peeta all the way. **

**Also I'm poor. Obviously, I didn't create the Hunger Games. That privilege is reserved for Ms. Collins. I would suggest seeing a doctor if you think otherwise.**

**So something about this series I guess: Most of my inspiration comes from songs. I'll credit those and put the lyrics in case people don't know them. A lot of my thought process comes from the lyrics and not really the melody. I mean the melody helps but sometimes lyrics can be happy but have a really minor sounding melody with it, so it may not always make sense.**

****[Side note: for those of you who read my X-men fic, I am writing it still, it's just with school starting up and marching season rolling it's hard to write. These are really simple to jot down]****

**Obviously, this one's from Plain White T's "Rhythm of Love". Normally I'm not a PWT fan but I freaking adore this song. And this was my first idea for the one shots.**

**"My head is stuck in the clouds  
>She begs me to come down<br>Says, "Boy, quit foolin' around"  
>I told her, "I love the view from up here<br>Warm sun and wind in my ear  
>We'll watch the world from above<br>As it turns to the rhythm of love**

**[Chorus] We may only have tonight**  
><strong>But till the morning sun, you're mine<strong>  
><strong>All mine<strong>  
><strong>Play the music low<strong>  
><strong>And sway to the rhythm of love<strong>

**My heart beats like a drum**  
><strong>A guitar string to the strum<strong>  
><strong>A beautiful song to be sung<strong>  
><strong>She's got blue eyes deep like the sea<strong>  
><strong>That roll back when she's laughing at me<strong>  
><strong>She rises up like the tide<strong>  
><strong>The moment her lips meet mine<strong>

**[Chorus]**

**When the moon is low**  
><strong>We can dance in slow motion<strong>  
><strong>And all your tears will subside<strong>  
><strong>All your tears will dry<strong>

**And long after I've gone**  
><strong>You'll still be humming along<strong>  
><strong>And I will keep you in my mind<strong>  
><strong>The way you make love so fine<strong>

**[Chorus]**

**Yeah, sway to the rhythm of love"**

**Again, thank you for reading. Enjoy and don't forget to review :]**

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><p><strong>Rhythms of Love<strong>

"Katniss! Come down!"

I hear Peeta far below me, his voice carried up with the wind. He sounds annoyed. Possibly worried. Probably because I'm up on the highest branch of the tallest tree in the forest. It's the first time I've climbed anything since the Games. And it feels great.

"Katniss!" He calls again. "Don't make me come up there!"

A breath of a laugh escapes me at his empty threat and I look down at him from my perch. He looks so small from up here. But I can tell he's worried. He's pacing back and forth at the base, his face turned up towards to try and see me, making sure I don't fall. I give him a small wave, hoping to calm his nerves and look back up at the sky.

I breathe in deeply, taking in the smell of the wood and the leaves as I watch the clouds float lazily by. I feel myself relax as the tree sways gently in the breeze. There's something about being up this high that soothes me. Maybe it's the sound of the wind through the leaves; the strong, steady feel of the bark against me; the sight of the earth reaching up to touch the sky. I feel like I can see the earth turn; like I can reach up and caress the clouds from my seat.

"Katniss!" His voice cracks in his panic as a particularly strong gust of wind makes my branch jerk.

"Coming!" I call back, perfectly fine. I sigh and begin to make my way back down the tree. My jaw clenches as my temper flares slightly. I force myself to take a deep breath. He only worries because he loves me. I do the same to him when he goes into the woods alone. But still, it is a little annoying.

Peeta is practically wringing his hands when my feet touch the ground. His blue eyes are wide and he's breathing in ragged gasps. For a moment, I'm afraid he's going to have a flashback. But he simply grabs my hand and pulls me close to him.

"I'm sorry." I say into his shirt, trying not to smile. He just shakes his head at me, like he doesn't quite know what to do with me. His arms are tight around my waist as he holds on to me, like he's still afraid I'm about to fall out of the tree. My head is tucked under his chin, my face pressed against him. I can hear his heart beating like a drum in his chest as his breath rattles through his lungs.

"I'm sorry." I repeat, meaning it this time. He doesn't move, just continues to stare over my head. "I love you." I add, wrapping my own arms around him. I feel his body relax then and he buries his face in my hair.

"I love you." He returns and I feel his body shake. Guilt tears through me. I've made him worry so much that he's crying. But then I hear his voice rumbling in his chest and my guilt disappears. I scowl up at him and he flashes me a smile that gives Finnick's best grin a run for its money. My knees go weak, but I steady myself against him and furrow my brow some more.

"If you laugh every time I say that, I'll stop."

It's his turn to laugh at my empty threat, his blue eyes rolling.

"You won't." He says with a grin, brushing his nose against mine. I pretend to think it over before my face betrays me. The corners of my mouth turn up in a shy smile, one that makes Peeta beam with joy. It just makes me smile harder.

"I won't." I promise and kiss him to prove my honesty.


	2. Always There

**This one, actually, I came up with all by myself. I wrote it in about a half hour in my grandparents' attic this summer, so I'm kinda proud of it. **

**Yeah, I know, the past one was fluffy and this one is too. I can't help it. I like the fluff. But the next one and probably the one after that will be angst-y. Cause, come on, it's Katniss. Angst is her thing. But that's why Peeta's so great for her :]**

**So thanks for reading. Please enjoy and review! :]**

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><p><strong>Always There<strong>

"Momma? Mommy?"

I float on the edge of consciousness, vaguely aware of my daughter calling for me.

"Mommy?"

Peeta nudges me with his arm. His eyes are full of sleep as he yawns.

"She's calling for you." He mumbles, half into his pillow. "You'd better go check on her."

I groan and roll over onto my back. I can tell he's smirking a bit as our daughter still calls out for me.

"Moooommmy?"

I can hear the hitch in her voice. The one that means she's going to start wailing soon. And boy, can she wail. She can cry for hours at the top of her lungs non-stop, deafening screams that make me almost wish that the Capitol had never fixed my ear.

Peeta nudges me again and I sit up, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. I can hear her hiccup and sniff, signaling that if I don't go to her soon, I'll be up for more than ten minutes. But all I want to do is go back to sleep.

Come on kid, I think, go back to sleep. She sniffles again; the tears all ready to go.

"Daddy?"

There we go.

Peeta jumps out of bed and out the door, stumbling a bit on his leg. I laugh softly to myself.

It never fails. Every time she calls for him he's there in a heartbeat. When she wants a story. When she wants to play. When she falls down and scrapes her knee. And on nights like these. He's always there for her, just like he's always there when I need him.

I stretch, get up, and pad down the hall after him to her room. Peeta is holding her in his arms, stroking her hair as she cries into his shoulder.

"It's ok. Shhh, don't cry. I'm right here." He soothes, lightly pacing.

"Bad dream?" I ask, petting her soft head. He nods and continues his pacing. "I'll get her some water."

By the time I get back, Peeta is sitting in a chair, our daughter's cries reduced to whimpers and sniffs. I hand her the drink and sit down at Peeta's feet, my hand holding her little one. We're quiet for a bit, listening to her gulps and sloppy sips until she finishes with a loud gasp.

"Daddy?" She asks, handing me back the glass.

"Mm?"

I smile. He's on the edge of sleep, I can tell, but he wakes up enough to nudge me closer with his foot and wrap his arms around her.

"Tell me a story?" She says with a yawn.

"What kind of story?"

"'Bout you and Mommy."

My body tenses up against Peeta's leg at her words; I can't help it. I imagine every horrible thing Peeta and I have ever been through: Both of the Games. The war. Peeta's hijacking. All of the fights we ever had.

"How about when I first saw her?" He says. I relax as he tells her story after story about the two of us, all of them happy and good. His face lights up when he talks, weaving magic with his words and I'm once again reminded why I love the boy with the bread.

"Daddy?" She says once he's done, her voice heavy with sleep. "Will you sleep with me?"

"Of course." He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. Scooping her up in his arms, he grabs some blankets and her pillow and lies down on the floor.

"Go to bed." He says, looking up at me. "I'll be there shortly."

I shake my head, grab another pillow for the two of us, and snuggle in.

"You'll fall asleep." I say. "And besides, I'd much rather sleep here than in an empty bed."

He chuckles but doesn't argue and wraps his arms around my waist. I smile at him then look down at our daughter. She's already asleep, clutching his shirt in her tiny fist. I place a kiss on her head, burying my nose in her dark hair. She smells like freshly baked bread and soap from her bath.

"Katniss." Peeta's voice is low as he tilts my chin up to look at him. "I love you."

I kiss him tenderly and I get the same feeling I did when I kissed him in that cave and on that beach. He responds to me and pulls our daughter and me closer to him.

"I love you." He repeats. "You and both our children."

He places a hand over my swollen stomach, and I can feel our second child stir. My heart flutters with a little bit of the same fear that I had when I carried our daughter; the fear that I'm going to do something wrong to this child in some way simply by having it. But then Peeta whispers those three words to me and all of that fear goes away.

"I love you." I say back and kiss him one more time before I fall asleep in his arms.


	3. There's a World

**Howdy :D. So I know it's been a bit since my last update and I'm very sorry. Senior year is very busy, as some of you may know. Projects, tests, homework, then on top of that throw in marching band and all my responsibilities with that and you get one busy girl. But, I figured I owed you guys something written so here it is.**

**A quick thank you to those of you that reviewed this series. You have no idea how happy you guys make me when I see those pop up in my inbox. Really, truly, thank you.**

**I did promise this one would be angst-y and it is (I think). Except it's Peeta and not Katniss. I tried making it from Katniss's point of view but it just didn't sound convincing. Peeta's more of the dreamer type anyways I think. Anyways, the song of Inspiration is from Next to Normal (a musical for those of you who don't know). For those of you who know the musical and where this song fits in, I'm just looking at the lyrics here not the context.**

**There's a world, there's a world I know  
>A place we can go where the pain will go away<br>There's a world where the sun shines each day  
>There's a world, there's a world out there<br>I'll show you just where  
>And in time I know you'll see<br>There's a world where we can be free  
>Come with me<br>Come with me  
>There's a world where we can be free<br>Come with me**

**Thank you all for reading. Please enjoy and don't forget to review!**

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><p><strong>There's a World<strong>

She's having another one. Another nightmare. I'm in the next room and I can tell. She's screaming. Screaming so loud I can't believe someone hasn't already gone in to check on her.

I lay in my bed, feeling the train sway slightly as it runs along the tracks. Her screams echo around in my head, sounding too much like the ones in my nightmares. The ones that all involve her dying in the games, and where I can't get to her in time to save her.

It's not until I hear her tears that I get up. Those have not invaded my nightmares yet, and I won't let them.

Her door opens easily and I see her trembling on her bed. Her whole body shakes like she's sleeping in the snow. Her arms twitch and her hands are balled into tight fists. Her screams are now frightened whimpers and sobs, her tears running down her face. Even in obvious pain she's breathtaking, radiating that wildness that only she has. My mind runs through the shades of greens and browns from my paints, picking the best ones to paint this scene.

"Peeta…" She says my name like she's pleading. Her shoulders convulse as her cries increase and I'm pulled out of my thoughts.

"Katniss." I call, trying to pull her out of the dream. I shake her gently, not wanting to hurt her but it doesn't help. She's on her side, curled up in a ball, her nails digging into her arms. She's screaming again, her tears falling down in a steady flow.

"Katniss, wake up." I shake her harder, but again it has no effect.

"No!" She shrieks at the nightmares, her voice shrill.

"Katniss!" I'm holding her arms to the bed, preventing her from thrashing around. "Katniss!"

Katniss wakes with a start, her grey eyes wide with wild terror. Her body still shakes under my arms, but slowly she comes back to me. She grabs my shirt in her hands, pulling me closer to her and cries into my chest.

"Don't leave." She whispers, her voice hitching on her tears. "Stay with me."

"Always." I promise, stroking her hair. She buries her face deeper into my shirt and I can feel her trembling against me.

I'm suddenly struck by how vulnerable Katniss is at this moment. Here, as she's clutching onto me like I'm her only tie to reality and if she lets go she'll break into a thousand pieces. Her terror rolls off of her in waves, like a wild animal being cornered. The noises coming from her makes my heart break and I wrap my arms around her small body.

I try to search my mind for another time where I've seen her as fragile as she is now. The image of Katniss sitting in the rain flashes in my thoughts and I remember. How small she looked. And how _afraid _she was. Even when we eleven, I knew I would do anything so that she wouldn't look that way. I still would do anything.

"There's a world," I start, trying to soothe her, "where the sun shines and the grass is green and the water is bluer than the sky. Where flowers grow in gardens and birds sing beautiful melodies. Where children go to school and laugh and play with each other."

I stop, thinking of more things. She curls up closer to my chest, her sobs quieting.

"Husbands go to work where they make good money for honest work. Wives look after their children with love. They make cookies and pies and wonderful dinners for their families. Children run through the streets, and play chase in fields without fear. Boys play games with balls and wrestle in the mud, while girls play with dolls and make nice things with ribbons."

Her tears have almost stopped and I feel her body relax slightly against mine. Her breathing is even and calm and I think she's asleep.

"There's a world," I continue, my voice low, "where there's no pain, no war, and no such thing as the Hunger Games."

Katniss sighs and her grip on my shirt loosens. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head.

I think again about how much this girl means to me and I'm filled with hate. Hate for the Capital and their stupid Games. Hate that they make our children fight to the death over something that happened 75 years ago. Hate that I'll never be able to live with the girl I love by my side.

But then I remember that Katniss doesn't actually love me. That it was all an act for the cameras. I pull her closer to me at that thought, because I know that's not true. She does love me. She wouldn't have found a way to keep me alive to win the Games if she didn't.

"There's a world," I whisper to her sleeping form, "where you admit you love me too."

She stirs, but doesn't wake up.

"Stay," she breathes in her sleep.

"Always," I answer back and lay back to the rocking of the train.


	4. Don't You Remember?

**Hey there, hey there. Again, thank you for all of your patience with my crap-tastic schedule. First quarter is done and I really can't believe it's already done. They really weren't kidding about the "blink and senior year is gone" saying. A quick shout out to everyone who added this to their Favorite Stories/Alerts lists. You all make me so happy when I see those notices. **

**So, Inspiration for this story: Adele's "Don't You Remember". The first time I heard this song, I knew it had to be a fanfic. It just screams Katniss. And I did promise you guys an angst-y Katniss story. I just hope this is up to par. **

**"When will I see you again?  
>You left with no goodbye, not a single word was said,<br>No final kiss to seal any seams,  
>I had no idea of the state we were in,<br>I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness,  
>And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head,<br>But don't you remember?  
>Don't you remember?<br>The reason you loved me before,  
>Baby, please remember me once more,<br>When was the last time you thought of me?  
>Or have you completely erased me from your memory?<br>I often think about where I went wrong,  
>The more I do, the less I know,<br>But I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness,  
>And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head,<br>But don't you remember?  
>Don't you remember?<br>The reason you loved me before,  
>Baby, please remember me once more,<br>Gave you the space so you could breathe,  
>I kept my distance so you would be free,<br>And hope that you find the missing piece,  
>To bring you back to me,<br>Why don't you remember?  
>Don't you remember?<br>The reason you loved me before,  
>Baby, please remember me once more,<br>When will I see you again?"**

**Just a little setting: This is when Katniss is in District 2. And I know she says some of these things in the book but I felt like it fit here too.**

**As always, please enjoy. And don't forget to review!**

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><p><strong>Don't You Remember?<strong>

I shut the door behind Gale. I release the breath I didn't know I was holding as I lean against the door. I'm tired, but I know I have to do the dishes. Gale had offered to help, but I didn't want company.

Sighing, I look around the house. District 13 was kind enough to give it to their Mockingjay. Their Mockingjay who didn't – no, couldn't – stay in the safety of their military complex. The house is only temporary; only until they find another family to take me in. Because it's not safe to be alone. Nowhere is safe with District 13. Not for me. Not with him in my mind…

I shake my head violently, pushing out those thoughts. I had promised myself I wasn't going to think of him. So I shove those thoughts into my mental safe and lock that into a bigger safe in my mind as I clean up the table.

For a while it's just the sound of the water running and the clink of dishes in the sink. I keep my mind blank, or at least turn my thoughts to Prim or to how I'll kill Snow. He pops up in my mind every once and a while but I shove those thoughts away before they could take hold. I can't afford to think of him. Not now.

The phone rings, making me jump. I realize I've been clutching onto the counter so hard that my knuckles are white. I stare down at them as the phone keeps ringing, debating with myself whether to answer it. I look at girl in the reflection of the window. The raw pain in her eyes is familiar to me, but tonight it's accompanied by a gnawing look of hunger. Hunger to know what's going on at the other end of the line.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver, catching it on the last ring.

"Katniss!"

"Hey." My body visibly relaxes at Prim's voice. "How are you?"

"Good." She answers. I imagine her blonde head bobbing on the other end of the phone. "I learned how to do stitches the way 13 wants."

I nod, even though I know she can't see me. We talk of her class, how she's doing, how she's getting along with the others from 13. She does most of the talking; her voice is soothing to me. It's almost like a shot of morphling to my racing mind, slowing down my rapid thoughts and letting me focus on her words.

She's telling me about the bird Buttercup managed to catch when I hear someone else on her side. Prim stops mid-sentence to talk to them. I hear only a couple of words, but my body goes tense because I know what they're talking about.

"Katniss."

"What?" I sigh. Haymitch sounds almost as tired as I feel. I imagine him cradling the phone with his shoulder, rubbing his eyes with one hand, a bottle in the other. Then I remember 13's rule about liquor and erase the bottle from the picture. I feel a twinge of sympathy for Haymitch, but it's a short-lived feeling.

"We tried something new on him today." He begins. I hear a warning in his voice and I force myself to breathe. I don't trust myself to speak so I wait for him to go on.

"It was Finnick's idea." He continues. "We showed him the tape of him proposing to you, while giving him the morphling. Finnick thought that it could make the positive emotions resurface."

"And?" I ask, my voice breaking. Haymitch is silent for a minute. My insides go numb.

"He starting spouting gibberish for a while," Haymitch finally says, "and then fell into another stupor. He woke up after a half hour."

"What'd he say?" I hear myself ask, even though I'm sure I didn't say it. Again, there's silence. The girl in the window looks broken, like she can't take it anymore. But her eyes beg me to find out what the boy with the bread said.

"He said he was wrong, Katniss. He was wrong to ever love you."

My mind goes numb as I put the phone back. My vision breaks up into fragments as I clutch the counter for support. It's no use. I feel my legs give out and I fall to the floor. The noises coming out of me sound like a wounded animal, and I can't stop the tears.

_He was wrong. He was wrong for ever loving me. _

My mind replays all of those moments where he loved me. I see his face, his hair, his eyes, and his wonderful smile. I hear his words in my ears. _I love you._

Those words run around my head, tearing at my walls until they come crashing down. There's a hole in my chest where my heart should be that is being ripped open wider each time I think of some moment he and I had shared. I want to die. Nothing this empty should be alive.

_He was wrong._

He couldn't be gone. He just couldn't be. He didn't say goodbye. There was no kiss, no hug, no words of comfort. Nothing. Just gone. If I had known… My throat hitches on the thought. What would I have done? Kissed him? Held him? Killed him in the games? He would have preferred I'd killed him if he had known what the Capitol would eventually turn him into.

_He was wrong._

The worst part, I realize, is that he now sees me as I really am. How I always thought he should. Violent. Insensitive. Manipulative. Scarred. Crazy. He hates me for using him. And I hate myself for thinking I could.

_He was wrong._

I want him back. I want him back so much it hurts. I want him to remember what he thought of me before this. How he thought I was beautiful. How he thought I was clever and brave. I want the boy with the bread to hold me and give me hope again. To tell me that everything will be okay again. To say he'll stay with me. Always.

_He was wrong._

It's almost three in the morning by the time I cry myself out. I've somehow managed to move into the bedroom, although I don't remember ever moving from the kitchen floor. I clutch my knees tighter to my chest as I feel the hole inside me open up a little more. All I feel is complete emptiness and numbness inside.

I admitted it to myself at some point that night. How I really feel about him. I can't deny it any longer. I can't heal that way. And I have to heal. To kill Snow and make him pay, I have to move on. No more thinking about him as the old boy with the bread. I have to move on to kill Snow.

Peeta. I swear to myself that if I ever see him – the real him – ever again, I'll tell him. I'll tell him I love him.


	5. It Gets Better

**Look at me, two updates in a week. Woo! Truth is I haven't had any homework for the past couple days cause of tests and events. Which, of course leads to me writing! ^_^ yey!**

**So my inspiration for this week isn't from a song. And actually, it's kinda sad where I got the idea to write this. Over the weekend, a boy in my class killed himself. No one really knows why. All we know is that it was a huge surprise to everyone and we all miss him terribly. I, personally, did not know him that well; I was kinda friends with him in middle school and only had a couple classes with him in high school. But still, it's incredibly sad. I don't if any of you guys know anyone who's died, whether by an accident or not, but I share your sadness. Well, anyways, I felt like I needed to write this in leu of this week. Please understand I'm not at all trying to be disrespectful to suicide victims. I just wish that there was a way for them to see how much people care about them and that it can, and _will_, get better.**

**This is set from Katniss' POV and it's after the war and stuff, just for background's sake. Also I'm sorry it's kinda short **

**Again thank you for reading. Please review, add to your favorites/alerts list, and remember that you are loved. Graceling42.**

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><p><strong>It Gets Better<strong>

I think about it.

I think about it all the time.

It's one of those things that is just so familiar to me that I can't imagine it _not_ being part of my life. And it is always there. Everyone has experienced it at some point. Some have even delivered it. People like me.

Death.

It haunts me. Shows me the people I've killed or even seen killed. They stand there, staring at me with hollow eyes. Like they expect me to do something. Sometimes I think they want me to help them. Move on or something, but I don't know how. But mostly, I think they want me to join them.

And I want to.

I want to die.

I want to die more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life. There's no point in my life anymore. Prim is gone. My mother hates me. Gale won't even look at me, let alone speak to me.

I think about how I would do it sometimes. I imagine myself getting shot like in the square in 2. Or with an arrow in my chest like I did to Coin. It'd be fitting, me dying from an arrow wound. Ironic, but fitting. Sometimes I think of just doing it to myself. Taking a pistol to my head or an overdose of morphling.

But every time I get the will to actually do it I think of Peeta. He's only thing I have left worth living for. And he needs me just about as much as I need him. The winter months for some reason bring on more of his relapses than before. Something tells me it's the cold and the dreary feeling in the whole district. But whatever it is, it's caused him to break down at least once a day.

He wants it too. He wants to die just about as much as I do. He tells me to make it stop, make his pain go away. I'm the only one that can pull him out of his fits anymore and it hurts me, seeing him like that. Every so often he asks me to kill him. But I can't. I can't kill the boy with the bread any more than I could in the first Games. And he knows it. Because he can't kill me either. Even if I asked for death.

So we help each other through our pain. Little steps, he says, just to show ourselves we can. Some days it's easier than others. Like when the sun is warm or when we see the progress 12 is making. But there's always the bad. The days where I think death is the only option to this hell we live in. Peeta just tells me to think of the better. I think of him. I think of me and Peeta together and I make it through. 


	6. I Miss You

**Da-Da-Da-DAAAAHH~ Three updates in one month. A new record I think. I'll tell you right now though, I won't match that next month. December means finals, which means studying, and projects, and concerts, and rehearsals, and tests, and THEN! break! So if I update at all in December, it'll be a miracle.**

**A quick Happy Holidays to everyone. I love the holidays. Food, sleep, friends, snow (hopefully), sleep, sweets, and more sleep. Plus more time for reading and writing. I have a one shot in mind for these two about the holidays. The question is if I can get around to it. ****(For those of you who read my X-men fic, I promise it's coming. I'm just a little stuck)**

**This one's fluffy again. I felt like they needed some happiness this time around. Maybe I'll make the next one angst-y but I'm not sure what you guys think.**

**So, song of inspiration for today: "Come On Get Higher" by Matt Nathanson. I know I normally put the song title as the title for the chapter, but I thought it didn't fit as well. **

**I miss the sound of your voice**  
><strong>And I miss the rush of your skin<strong>  
><strong>And I miss the still of the silence<strong>  
><strong>As you breathe out and I breathe in<strong>

**[Chorus]**

**If I could walk on water**  
><strong>If I could tell you what's next<strong>  
><strong>I'd make you believe<strong>  
><strong>I'd make you forget<strong>  
><strong>So come on, get higher, loosen my lips<strong>  
><strong>Faith and desire and the swing of your hips<strong>  
><strong>Just pull me down hard<strong>  
><strong>And drown me in love<strong>  
><strong>So come on, get higher, loosen my lips<strong>  
><strong>Faith and desire and the swing of your hips<strong>  
><strong>Just pull me down hard<strong>  
><strong>And drown me in love<strong>  
><strong>I miss the sound of your voice<strong>  
><strong>Loudest thing in my head<strong>  
><strong>And I ache to remember<strong>  
><strong>All the violent, sweet<strong>  
><strong>Perfect words that you said<strong>  
><strong>[Chorus]<br>****I miss the pull of your heart**  
><strong>I taste the sparks on your tongue<strong>  
><strong>I see angels and devils<strong>  
><strong>And God, when you come on<strong>  
><strong>Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on<strong>  
><strong>Sing sha la la la<strong>  
><strong>Sing sha la la la la<strong>  
><strong>Ooo Ooo Ooo...<strong>  
><strong>So come on, get higher, loosen my lips<strong>  
><strong>Faith and desire and the swing of your hips<strong>  
><strong>Just pull me down hard<strong>  
><strong>And drown me in love<strong>  
><strong>So come on, get higher, loosen my lips<strong>  
><strong>Faith and desire and the swing of your hips<strong>  
><strong>Just pull me down hard<strong>  
><strong>And drown me, drown me in love<strong>  
><strong>It's all wrong, it's all wrong<strong>  
><strong>It's all wrong, it's so right<strong>  
><strong>So come on, get higher<strong>  
><strong>So come on and get higher<strong>  
><strong>'Cause everything works, love<strong>  
><strong>Everything works in your arms.<strong>

****Don't forget to review and add to your Favorites/Alerts. Also if you have any ideas for a one shot, I'd be happy to try my hand at it. Now please, enjoy :D****

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><p><strong>I Miss You<strong>

_Peeta's POV_

The house is quiet without her around. There's no faint melody of her voice in the air. No sound of feet, save my own on the carpet. It's nice, in some ways.

But I'm lonely without her.

The things I used to do by myself seem boring and mundane now. I can't paint without my mind wandering to imagine what she's doing. I can't even bake without feeling distracted.

She told me not to worry; she'd be back in less than a week. But it's only been a day and I miss her more than I thought possible. And that thought makes me laugh at my own small state of misery.

I can't let her know how much I miss her, because I know if she thinks I'm the least bit uncomfortable she'll be back here in my arms as soon as possible. That's just how Katniss is. And don't get me wrong the idea is very tempting. But I know she's needed in 13 for the ceremony and I know she needs to be there for her own reasons. So I can't call her back to me.

So I do the only thing I can to cure my longing for her. I find the paper and pen on her desk and push the book of our loved ones to the side.

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><p><em>Katniss's POV<em>

It's late by the time I reach my room. Most of 13 is asleep, having gone to their rooms soon after the ceremony had finished. But I am wide-awake. Sleep and I have never been good friends and tonight is no different.

My thoughts flit back to the ceremony and I feel a tug at the hole in my chest. The emptiness returned sometime during the speeches. It didn't help that my mother was there. Seeing her reminded me so much of Prim that it physically hurt to stand on that podium. The only things stopping me from breaking down were Johanna's nails digging into my palm.

A small part of me wishes that Peeta had come. I miss his arms and his soothing voice. But it'd be too much for him; too many triggers for flashbacks. So he just saw me off at the train station, his hand not leaving mine until the train pulled me away from him.

It's not until I'm about to go to sleep that I see an envelope on the table by my bed. It's plain, not like the fancy paper the Capitol liked to use. Or that the Republic still uses, I think. Finally, it occurs to me that it looks like the same paper from the desk in my office.

I shake my head, slightly annoyed with him for going to the trouble. I told him I'd be back soon. But I still feel a small smile threating to show as the image of Peeta at my desk fills my mind.

His writing is small and neat, filling the page elegantly, like writing on a historic document. Nothing is smeared or cramped like my writing. Even on paper, Peeta has a way of playing with words. Something I wish I had, even now.

_Katniss,_

_ I know you said you'd be back soon and that you'd said there was nothing to worry about. And that's true. I'm not worried, I promise. _(Liar, I think.) _I'm sorry, that's a lie. I _am_ worried, just not too much._

_ I've tried painting while you've been gone. Not very successfully, but I've tried. It's hard to paint when my inspiration for everything is gone. What little I have done is of still things. The vase in the kitchen, Haymitch's wheelbarrow outside, the trees in the snow. Things like that._

_ Mostly, though, I miss you. I miss the sound of your voice and the small tunes you hum while doing the dishes. I miss the feel of you sitting next to me on the floor by the fire. I miss the sound of your breathing in the morning before you wake up._

_I miss your reluctant smile and your hesitant laugh._

_I miss your gray eyes and your dark hair._

_I miss the way you growl at Buttercup when he's in your way. (He's taken your side of the bed by the way. I tried to stop him.)_

_I miss how you bite your lip as you read and write in the book._

_I miss the feel of your hand in mine._

_I miss the way you hold me._

_I miss how you kiss me goodnight._

_I miss the quiet way you say you love me, like it's a secret you can't quite tell._

_I miss you. All of you. I love you. Come back to me soon._

_Peeta_

His words make me blush and smile like some silly schoolgirl. Even when he's not with me his words still have that wonderful effect that make everything seem right. His wonderful words that mean I'm his, and he's mine.


	7. Just Relax

**So I know ****I said don't expect anything really in December until break, but here it is! Another chapter! I've been sick for the past two days, which as most of you know, means you can't really do anything except sit on the couch or in bed. So I figured I'd write something for you guys as a little Finals present. **

**I don't know about you guys but I'm actually feeling ok about finals this year. It helps I only have three academic ones this year, but still I'm feeling pretty on top of things. Now talk to me next week and we'll see if that feeling stays the same or not.**

**So there's no song of inspiration for this one. If anything, this one is kinda dedicated to my friend who's really stressed out right now. She's going on a big trip soon and she's super excited but she's super nervous about it too. So I kinda wrote this to cheer her up. I just hope it works. :]**

**Please don't forget to review or add to your favorites/alerts. You guys make my day with those little notices. And so, without any further ado, please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Just Relax<strong>

This was only happening cause I did something not quite unusual.

Peeta and I had just finished dinner; something simple since it was getting to be winter. I hadn't gone hunting in a while so we were short on meat. I was thinking of the best places to maybe find a pheasant or a turkey when I accidently dropped a plate on my foot.

I let loose a long stream of curses as I hopped on my good foot. Shards were embedded in the skin and were continuing to cut up both feet. Peeta was at my side in a flash, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me away from the sharp pieces of tableware. It wasn't until he stroked my face that I realized I was crying.

It wasn't that big of a deal, I told myself. It was only a plate. But I couldn't stop the tears from falling. Peeta just held me until I was done, not saying anything.

And now my feet not only are cold but also throbbing with pain. The fresh snow that covers the woods around 12 reaches up almost to my knees. Even with my winter gear the Capitol and 13 gave me under my father's hunting jacket I'm still freezing. My toes on my left foot are losing feeling and I'm pretty sure my fingers are stuck to the string on my bow.

I stamp my feet against the frozen ground and give a frustrated sigh. I've been hunting for almost three hours now and all I have to show for it are three thin rabbits and a small pheasant. I'd set a trap for something bigger except I don't think I have enough feeling to properly do one right now. And plus, I avoid traps as much as possible now.

I head over to the pond to try my luck there. Maybe I can get some duck. And if worse comes to worse, I can always fish. The thought makes me walk a little bit faster, my hopes rising a bit. It's comforting knowing I'll never starve as long as these woods are here.

The walking helps warm me up some, but I still feel like the cold has sunk farther down. It's not physical anymore, I know. I'm always cold now. Everything reminds me of Prim and everyone I lost.

But I've come to deal with it. I know it won't ever go away but I don't break down anymore like I used to. Prim wouldn't want that, I think. She'd want me to be ok and to be strong like I used to. So I do, for her, just like I used to do.

A couple of wild turkeys jump into the sky, startling me out of my thoughts. I breathe I sigh of relief as I draw my bow. Finally, some luck is with me today. I shoot the last two into the air, noticing that one of them is indeed fat. He'll do well in a nice stew, I think.

By the time I get back to 12 it's dark and I've also managed to grab three squirrels. But I'm in a sour mood again. My injured foot is pulsating angrily and I lost my footing on a hill and slipped, banging up my back and head on my down. And I twisted my ankle on a tree root buried in the snow about an hour ago. I'm pretty sure it's swollen, but it's been iced thanks to the stupid snow.

I'm growling incoherently when I limp to the door of the house. I hear something slam inside and Peeta curse. My frustration threatens to boil as I imagine Peeta having a flashback. I press my fingers against my temple, trying to calm myself down. If he is having one, I need to be calm and steady for him. Not about to have my own anxiety attack.

The smell of warm bread and cooked meat hits me as I walk in the door and makes me stop where I stand. Combined with the warmth drifting my way from the kitchen the sensation sends my mind numb. I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. It's just so good. I love it when Peeta bakes for the simple reason of the smell. Sometimes I think to myself that I could survive on the smell alone.

"Hey!" Peeta's voice brings me out of my trance. "Close the door, Katniss! It's freezing outside!"

My cheeks fill with heat as I shut the door. All at once my fatigue comes racing back and my bones feel like I've just taken a dip in the pond. I start tearing off my gloves and boots, hoping now that I'm inside I can return the feeling to them.

Peeta comes out of the kitchen, a big dopey grin on his face. He's proud of something I can tell. But the look in his eye tells me he won't tell me what until I ask him.

That look is quickly erased, though, as he sees me standing in the doorway. I flinch slightly as I see in my head what he must see. My tired eyes and flushed face. My soaking hair and clothes. My blue lips and my body quivering as I try to warm myself.

"Katniss, you're frozen stiff!" He exclaims, his blue eyes wide with horror. I drop my gaze down to my feet and focus on trying to feel my toes wiggling. For some reason I feel ashamed. Like I've let down Peeta some how by showing up at home like this.

Suddenly, I'm swept off my feet and lifted into the air. Panicked, I latch on to Peeta' s neck and draw up close to his chest. I hear him chuckle, his chest vibrating with his voice and I scowl in protest.

"I'm wet." I say, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes." He agrees with a laugh. "And very, very cold."

He carries me over to the living room and places me down right in front of the fire. Immediately, I feel a little bit better. Warmth washes over me like I've been dipped in a warm bath. I scoot a little closer to the flame and Peeta helps me peel off my wet layers. Eventually, I'm only in my undershirt and leggings, but wrapped up in a blanket I feel oddly unconcerned about my lack of clothing. All that matters right now is the heat.

"Here." Peeta's holding out a bowl and a piece of bread for me to take. The heavenly smell makes my mouth water and I grab the bread first. Ripping a piece off in my mouth, I sigh with happiness at the taste. I'm still working on the bread when I take the soup from him. Peeta's laughing at my haste, but it's too good for me to slow down.

"Be careful." He warns, holding my hand. "It's still hot."

I blush, embarrassed at my rush to eat. I eat slowly now, focused on savoring all the flavors in the soup. Suddenly, it hits me that this is the first time Peeta's every cooked for me. Sure, he bakes, but never prepares full meals for the two of us. Usually it's me that makes dinner.

I look at him from the corner of my eye. He's watching me, a nervous look on his face. The bowl in his hands looks almost untouched, as if he's waiting for me to allow him to eat.

"Peeta," I say around a mouthful of bread. He raises an eyebrow at me until I swallow. "This is amazing."

He beams at me and I feel a different kind of warmth surge through me.

"I just thought you'd like it if you didn't have to cook tonight." He admits when we're done eating. I look up at him and his eyes meet mine. "You've been so tense lately. I thought I'd help."

"Thank you."

"I'm not done quite yet." He grins at me. "Turn around."

I give him a questioning look, but do what he says. I hear him shift around behind me before feeling his hands on my shoulders. My body tenses at his touch sending pain through my back and neck.

"Just relax, Katniss" Peeta says, his voice low as his hands start to rub. And I do.

My mother told me once that everyone has a physical "off switch". Some point in their body where the right amount of pressure will make them relax. This was back in her coherent days as a healer. It was part of her work. Whenever someone would come in in pain, she'd find that point and make them calm down to a certain point. Prim and I would poke each other, trying to find our own spots, but we never did.

But now with Peeta's hands on my shoulders I feel every little bit of tension evaporate from my body. Every wrong thing that I've been worrying about flies away. My mind numb, I only focus on his hands. Rubbing, pulling, pushing. It's like he knew exactly what to do to make the pain stop.

"Better?" He asks when he's done. I give a little noise of protest but nod emphatically.

"Much." I sigh, stretching a bit. His arms wrap around my body and bring me close to him. I snuggle in more and he wraps the blanket around us both.

"I love you." Peeta says, giving me a soft squeeze. I feel one of the rare smiles show and I turn my head to kiss him. Once again a different kind of warmth flows through me and I'm happy. I know Peeta is the only one that can give me that warmth anymore. He's the only one that can save me from the cold that threatens to consume me.


	8. She Will Be Loved

**So I realize this chapter is waaayy overdue, but between finals, traveling outside of the country, college applications, and other... stuff is the best way to describe it, I just haven't had any time to write. So thank you guys for being patient with my schedule. I promise I'll try and update more often this semester. (Finding Myself readers I promise-swear I am working on it. Hopefully, by the end of the month?)**

**Moving right along! This one's shorter, but I like it. And also fluffy again. Maybe the next one will be angst? I dunno, what do you guys think? Anyways, The Song of Inspiration today is Maroon 5's "She Will Be Loved". Yeah I know it's cheesy, but I really love this song. The music video... not so much. But anyways! Lyrics:**

**Beauty queen of only eighteen**  
><strong>She had some trouble with herself<strong>  
><strong>He was always there to help her<strong>  
><strong>She always belonged to someone else<strong>  
><strong>I drove for miles and miles<strong>  
><strong>And wound up at your door<strong>  
><strong>I've had you so many times but somehow<strong>  
><strong>I want more<strong>  
><strong>I don't mind spending everyday<strong>  
><strong>Out on your corner in the pouring rain<strong>  
><strong>Look for the girl with the broken smile<strong>  
><strong>Ask her if she wants to stay awhile<strong>  
><strong>And she will be loved<strong>  
><strong>She will be loved<strong>  
><strong>Tap on my window knock on my door<strong>  
><strong>I want to make you feel beautiful<strong>  
><strong>I know I tend to get so insecure<strong>  
><strong>It doesn't matter anymore<strong>  
><strong>It's not always rainbows and butterflies<strong>  
><strong>It's compromise that moves us along, yeah<strong>  
><strong>My heart is full and my door's always open<strong>  
><strong>You can come anytime you want<strong>  
><strong>[Chorus]<br>****I know where you hide**  
><strong>Alone in your car<strong>  
><strong>Know all of the things that make you who you are<strong>  
><strong>I know that goodbye means nothing at all<strong>  
><strong>Comes back and begs me to catch her every time she falls<strong>  
><strong>Tap on my window knock on my door<strong>  
><strong>I want to make you feel beautiful<strong>

**[Chorus]  
><strong>**_[in the background]_**  
><strong>Please don't try so hard to say goodbye<strong>  
><strong>Please don't try so hard to say goodbye<strong>  
><strong>Yeah<strong>**_  
><em>****I don't mind spending everyday**  
><strong>Out on your corner in the pouring rain<strong>  
><strong>Try so hard to say goodbye<strong>

**And the "setting" (as requested by ButterflyFlyToMe) is sometime between the first games and when Peeta and Katniss first "officially", if you can call it that, meet. Anytime, pick a time. **

****Thank you for reading and don't forget to review! And add to your favorites/alerts! And now please enjoy :]****

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><p><strong>She Will Be Loved<strong>

It's raining. I suppose that's a really simple thing to say, but it's true. It's raining, and it's raining hard. And it makes me sad. Because I know she doesn't like the rain.

The day had started nicer than this. When I woke up, it had been sunny. I remember I smiled because I thought it'd make her day better. And it's her day. Her birthday.

I don't remember how I figured out when her birthday was; I think one of the girls at school told me. But it doesn't matter. I know it's today, and today it's raining.

I flip the collar of my jacket up to protect the back of my neck from getting wet. It's a stupid thing, since I'm already soaked but I don't care. She's probably as wet as I am, I think, but she never complains. Never. Or if she does it's to that boy she always is with.

I scowl at the thought. I don't like him. Which is stupid, because he's never done anything to me to make me not like him. Except that he gets to be around her. All the time. And he makes her smile. Something I wish I could do.

But, I think, he can't be that bad if he makes her smile. That broken smile that sends my heart soaring. Even if it's only a small one, it's better than none at all. And I know he can make her laugh. Something so rare I've only heard her do it once and I think that was by accident. But it was beautiful and pure, like a song. I still hear it in my happiest dreams, like a promise yet to be made.

The rain picks up, slapping the road loudly. I burry my hands into my pockets as I look up at her house. The windows are dark, but that just helps me relax. I know she's in the woods at this time of day, but she'll be back soon. And if the power's out, then I know she's safe. Even if it is with him.

I shift my weight on my feet and wrap my arms tighter around the loaves of bread under my jacket. I can still feel their warmth through their wrapping and my jacket material. It's my gift for her. It's my gift every year since she appeared behind my house. Except these aren't burnt. From the crust to the fluffy center, they're perfect. Secretly, I hope she knows they're from me and just is waiting to find out my birthday to do something in return. I doubt she is, but still, it's a nice thought.

I look back up at the house and then back down at my feet. It's funny how often I end up here when I'm walking. Sometimes it's on purpose, but mainly it's by accident. Like the looks I steal at her during school. The one's that tell me what she's thinking about that day.

Sometimes I can tell she's thinking about her trip to the woods for the day. She stares out the window towards the tree line and taps her pencil against the desk in patterns. Other times she's worried. Most likely about her family and if they have enough food for the day, but for all I know it could be about the weather.

But mostly she just looks lonely. It happens on rainy days, or days when she will actually talk with Madge. Her grey eyes cloud over with a certain sadness. Like she'll never have anyone to care about. Or anyone to care for her. To tell her she's beautiful.

I wish for the tenth time that day that I had the courage to talk to her. To make her smile and laugh. To tell her I think she's beautiful. To tell her that her eyes remind me of the edge of a storm; when the sky is caught between blue and dark with rain. To tell her that her face has never once been absent from my dreams since the first day I saw her.

I love her. Plain and simple; it's a fact. I've known it for a while. And I know it's true. Parents like to tell you when you're young that you don't know what love is, but I don't believe them. If you can look at a person and just know that you'd do anything to see them happy, that's love. If you can hear a person talk and feel all your problems go away, that's love. If you want nothing more than to see them safe and sound with the person they love, even if it's not you, that's love. And that's how I feel about her.

The rain is letting up some as I see something behind the fence in the distance. I realize my time is almost up so I hurry to place the bread at her doorstep. I dive behind the tree across the way just in time. She's home.

Katniss looks tired and slightly sore, favoring her left leg as she walks. I've a small urge to help her inside, but I stop when I see her face. Her eyes are beaming and the corners of her lips are turned upwards into that small hesitant smile. It's been a good day. Her bag drags along behind her, full of game that I know will feed her family as well as others.

She stops when she sees my present on the step. Even though I know she knew it would be there, she still looks puzzled. Like she's trying to figure out who could afford to give two loaves of bread to her as a gift. Still confused, she picks them up and looks around. I have to hide completely; I won't be able to do it next year if she catches me.

I don't leave until I hear her door shut behind her. The rain is coming down harder now, filling my boots and soaking my hair. But I don't really mind. There's a smile on my face that I know will get me in trouble if I let my mother see it, but I don't care. The girl I love and will never stop loving is happy. That I know. And that's enough for me.


	9. Be My Valentine?

**Happy Valentines Day! Or Singles Awareness Day/Crazy Love Marketing Day/Chocolate and Flowers Day or whatever you want to call it. I'm updating on time this month! And I might actually get two chapters up by the end of the month! Huzzah! **

**No Song of Inspiration today. Instead it's kinda a gift to a friend of mine. I tend to do that a lot, so really, if you want me to write a one shot for you, tell me. Anyways, this chapter started off as a writing assignment/gift and just kinda evolved into a Katniss/Peeta fic. So ta-da! And it's fluffy again. The next one I PROMISE will be angsty. Promise-swear.**

**Quick notes about this one: 1) It's not really set in the Hunger Games universe. I mean all the characters are there, but they're at school. Not the games. And 2) Katniss's character didn't really stay the same. I'm not saying I changed her _completely_ but she's not all "grrr". You guys let me know if it's too offensive, yeah? I don't feel that great about doing that but I didn't know how else to do it and make the story work.**

**Thanks for reading and don't forget to review/add to your favorites/alerts! Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Be My Valentine?<strong>

He's nervous; something that he's not used to feeling. He's always been a confident person. Since the day he asked the older boys to play ball he's always been sure of himself. He ran into the woods and back just because someone said he'd be too scared to. He made the record for number of bags of coal a boy could carry at the age of thirteen. He made the varsity wrestling team his freshman year. He asked the prettiest girl in District 12 to dance and she said yes.

But when Katniss Everdeen turned around in science class in September and asked him to stop kicking her chair, he lost it. He lost his confidence. Well not all of it. He can still run a mile in under six minutes and read books like _Moby Dick_ and _Atlas Shrugged_ and understand them. He can still bake better than his mom and write the best poetry in anyone in the class (although he won't tell his friends that).

But he can't talk to her. The girl with the pretty brown hair that sits right in front of him for three periods. He can't do it. Every time he tries, he gets tongue-tied. And he tries. He tries to ask for the assignment from History class in the lunch line, but ends up talking about the rain outside. He tries to say he likes the black leather boots she wears every day that remind him of a pair his father used to let him wear, but it comes out as a cough. He tries to answer her request to stop kicking her chair in science that he only does it so he can look at her stormy grey eyes and feel the shivers her look sends through his veins, but he simply gulps and nods.

Today, though, is going to be different. Today's the day of possibilities. Because when she turns around to ask him to not kick her chair today, he's hoping she won't reject the daisy asking to be his valentine when he holds it out to her. He knows it's corny but his brothers say it's a good idea. He figures it's worth a shot

He gets to class early, already anxious about what she'll say. His teacher looks up at him, surprised to see him so early. Normally he's at least five minutes late to class. Not this morning though. There's no room for error today. He sits at his desk, fidgeting his leg and staring at her empty seat. He wonders what her hair will look like today or what color shirt she'll be wearing. He likes that red flannel shirt she wears every now and then. It makes her look like a small cowgirl. He smiles at the thought but quickly stops as the girl sitting next to him shoots him a weird look.

Other kids slowly flow into the classroom, the girls showing each other the presents they've already gotten – flowers, chocolates, and other presents – and boys beaming with pride that they've made their girlfriend happy for the next week. He watches them with a quiet envy, before going to watch the clock.

His leg moves faster as the hand on the clock moves slowly around. His eyes jump back and forth between the door and his backpack. His hands are starting to sweat and he's frantically trying to wipe them off on his pants. He's getting looks from his friend on the other side of the room but he doesn't care. He's fighting with himself to throw the daisy away. Just wait, he tells himself. Five more minutes.

It's not until Madge walks in alone after the bell that he really starts to get nervous. They're always come to class together in the morning. She must be sick. Or maybe she transferred science classes. His eyes widen in fear. What if she got so sick of him kicking her chair everyday that she changed classes? He'd never forgive himself.

Breathe; in then out. He repeats this mantra over and over in his head. It helps his nerves but still his leg is going a mile a minute. She's probably just late, he reasons. Maybe she went on a early morning hunt. But what if she got hurt and was stuck? What if a wild dog attacked her? What if she's dead? Breathe!

The teacher moves to close the door to begin today's lesson. There's a strangled cry threatening to escape his throat as she grabs the handle, but she simply walks out the door and down the hall. He collapses, sprawled across his desk, his head in his hand. He can't take it. His heart is trying to escape his ribcage and his pulse is dancing in his throat. A groan reverberates against the plastic-wood of his desk, coming out louder than he meant and he gently hits his head against the desk.

"Peeta?"

And then she's there. Standing right in front of him, appearing out of nowhere. Confirming his theory that she's magic, just maybe not in the way he originally thought.

"Katniss," he says, his voice coming out in a surprised gasp. "Hey."

There's a funny kind of smile on her face. Like she knows something he doesn't and wants to tell him. Her cheeks are slightly tinged with pink and he feels his blood run to his own face.

There's a little voice in his head telling him to do it, do it now! He feels around under his chair for his bag, then the zipper. She's talking to him – actually talking to him - about why she was late and how the snow makes people act insane. His fingers latch around the zipper and pull hard, almost ripping open the bag.

"Hang on a sec," he excuses himself and dives under the desk. Why, why, why does he keep so many papers in his bag? He really should organize it better but that doesn't matter right now. Finally, he finds it and his fingers latch around it. It's the moment of truth now. He breathes in deeply, boosting his confidence, and slowly resurfaces from under the desk.

His eyes closed, he stretches out his hand, flower poised and note clearly visible.

And she starts laughing.

His eyes shoot open and up to her face, his ego taking a nosedive. She's laughing hard, tears forming and her mouth covering her hand. Slowly, she reaches into her own bag and draws something out and hold its out to him.

A daisy. With a note. _Will you be my valentine?_


	10. Jealousy

**Hey there. Sorry for the delay. I know I said I'd try and get two up last month, but stuff came up. Like life changing stuff. So writing kinda got curbed for a couple of weeks. But I'm back now, so hopefully we should stick to the "normal" schedule? Hopefully -_-**

**ANYWAYS! I promised angst. So here's angst. And it's long. Like the longest one I've written for these two. But it's got a happy ending. 99.9999999999999% of the time there will be a happy ending. Unless some dies. Maybe. I dunno. No song of inspiration, just this. This one was gonna end so many different ways, but it came out like this! Ta-da. The next one will be angsty too. At least I'm planning on it. We'll see what happens.**

**Setting is Post-Mockingjay, just for background's sake.**

**So per usual, read, review, and add to your Favorites/Alerts. You guys make my day when I see those notices in my inbox. :] Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Jealousy<strong>

Pink or yellow?

I stare at the flowers in the vase in front of me. They seem harmless enough, but I know better. They could mean the death of me. Because she knows flowers a lot better than I do. Everything they mean and everything they don't.

I bite my lip, glancing back and forth between the roses. Why, why, why? can't they just come in one color? Everything would be so much simpler then. The woman behind the counter looks at me patiently, but the tapping of her finger against the glass tells me she wishes I would hurry.

But I can't hurry this. It has to be perfect. Because I messed up. Bad. Bad enough she making me sleep on the couch. And coming from her, that's almost the same as kicking me out all together.

Finally, I just get five of each, unable to decide. The woman smiles and wraps them up for me. Her smile reminds me of someone, but my memory is still fuzzy enough that I can't remember whom. I'm still in a haze as I leave the shop when I run into Haymitch. Literally.

He grunts as I collide into him, squinting at me. He's got a bottle in one hand, and a sack full of something in the other. His eyes are bleary and he's got bags under his eyes that rival his worse years. I think he doesn't even notice I'm there and I'm not particularly interested in him vomiting all over my shoes, so I move to step around him when he grabs my arm.

Haymitch stares up at me, and it occurs to me that he looks old. His face seems to have acquired more wrinkles and lines since I remember and his beard needs trimming. My chest tightens as my mind kicks into gear with something like a mix between a real memory of Haymitch and one of the shinier ones that the Capitol screwed with.

"Peeta."

His voice is like knives clicking together as his grasp on my arm tightens, helping me focus on what's real. I shake my head back and forth, trying to clear my mind and grip the roses tightly. Once Haymitch feels like I won't start raving like a lunatic he lets go, his eyes finally taking in the flowers in my hand.

"Big night?" He grunts, flashing me what I think is supposed to be a smile, but just comes across more like a sneer. I shake my head.

"An apology." I explain, scratching the back of my neck. Haymitch tips his chin in understanding.

"What'd you say?" He asks. He knows she'd never get upset over something I did. It has to be something I said. And it is.

"I called her a mutt."

Even though Katniss isn't around to hear, I feel like I'm in danger of upsetting her further by saying it again. The word sticks in my mouth, making me feel dirty.

"Flashback?" He grunts, his voice beginning to grate more. He's upset with me for saying that to her. He always liked her better. It's some messed up father-daughter relationship they established unknowingly during the Games. They care for each other, a lot. A lot more than either of them will ever admit to anyone. Even themselves. But I know better.

"No." I sigh, shaking my head slowly. "I was present."

Haymitch's look grows stormy and I'm suddenly worried for my own safety. It's a stupid thought though. He'd never purposely hurt me. Not while I'm sane. But I understand the look. I feel the same way with myself for even thinking the word. It's despicable.

We had been fighting. A news clip had come on over the television about the progress on the final Games – the ones sending the Capitol children to their deaths instead of those from the districts – and it had set her off. Her own flashbacks about Prim and the war. And how she still thought that it was the right thing to do in payment for those we'd lost.

That's when I had said it. Called her a Capitol Mutt for thinking that way. I knew as soon as I said it that it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't take it back. The damage had been done. If I had physically slapped Katniss, I think it would have hurt her less. She didn't even look at me for the rest of the morning and spent the entire day in the woods, not coming home until late. Even then she wouldn't speak to me and just threw a pillow and blanket out into the hall for me before slamming the door to our room.

Haymitch's look seems to calm down after a moment and he takes a swig from the bottle. He goes back to squinting at me and simply shrugs his shoulders.

"Just don't piss her off any more than she is." He grunts before shuffling off through the snow. I sigh and nod, knowing full well to not do that already and set off for our own home.

I practice my speech in my head on the walk back, but whatever I come up with sounds wrong. She told me once that I have a way with words, but I don't. I just say what I feel at that moment. I never plan out my words, I just think about how I feel in the moment. If anything she's better at it than I am. Maybe not in her words but in the way she acts and looks. Her emotions show through so clearly that it'd be impossible not to connect when she's speaking to you. I think if I tried to tell her that, she'd disagree with me.

I finally reach the door to our house, a rough idea of what I want to say in my head, when the door opens. I look up, my mouth open and the roses halfway up before I register who it is.

Gale is standing on my doorstep, wearing a look like he just got caught doing something. My heart stops in my chest and my throat constricts so I have trouble breathing. His hair is longer than it used to be, drooping into his eyes, but he looks better than what little I can remember him in 13. Taller, broader, his shoulders and chest filling out his military coat. He jams his hands in his pockets and grunts a hello before walking past me.

Why is he here? He and Katniss haven't spoken in three years. At least that I've noticed. My brain scrambles to give a reason for his being in my house. Alone. With her. After the two of them being out of touch for a long while. Did she call him? Did he call her? How long was he here? My mind comes up with so many questions it almost drives me into a Flashback. I stand staring at his footprints on the front step until it begins to snow. The cold drives me inside, afraid to hear any of her answers.

I hear her in the kitchen as I take my wet things off. She's humming slightly and there's a clink of dishes in the sink. My heart sinks even lower. She's happy. Happier than when I left this morning to go to the bakery. Did he make her happy? I shake my head and press my palm against my temple, willing the thought to go away. Taking a deep breath, I clutch the roses tighter in my hand and walk to the kitchen.

"Katniss."

She turns around at my voice, her small smile on her face. But it falls as she looks at my face.

"Peeta, what's wrong?"

I don't answer her. Instead my eyes go to the floor, avoiding the worry in hers. She puts down the dish she was holding and steps towards me.

"If it's about yesterday, I'm not -" she breaks off with a sharp intake of breath. I look up to see her staring at the flowers in my hand with something that looks like a mix between fear and hate.

"What are those?" Katniss asks, her voice in a harsh whisper.

"An apology." I say, my own voice impassive. "Why was Gale here?"

Her grey eyes snap up to meet mine and I see my own shock and fear in them. Jealousy flares up inside me and I step forward to close the distance between us.

"Katniss, why was Gale here?"

Her eyes flit back and forth between me and the flowers still in my hand as if she's trying to decide which to address first. I make the decision for her.

"Katniss!"

"We were just talking!" She yells back at me. The usual fire is back in her face now, her anger at my unsaid accusation rolling off of her. My head pounds with Capitol memories and I fight to keep sane. But the image of Gale coming out of our home pushes me to the brink.

"Just talking?" I growl, grinding my teeth and trying to stay in control.

"Yes, Peeta." She spits back at me, her eyes blazing. The girl on fire is back, her spite and hatred fueling her venom. "He came over to apologize. For everything he's done. Unlike some people."

"Apologize?" The word catches me off guard. The memories flood into me and my vision becomes fragmented. I dig my palm into my temple, focusing on the pain.

"Yeah, apologize. As in, saying you're sorry for something? It's something people do. Although, I understand if the Capitol completely wrote that out of your system."

"Wrote it out of my system? Katniss, I couldn't control them brainwashing me any more than you could control being the Mockingjay!"

"Don't change the subject!" She snaps, her fists clenched tightly and pressing into the sides of her head, as if she can block me out.

"Fine." My breath is coming in sharp gasps and my hands are shaking. "Why was Gale here?"

Katniss lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a sigh and a groan. She glares at me as if she can't believe we're arguing about this, but I need to know.

"Katniss. Answer the question."

She's quiet for a moment, staring out the window. Her nails dig into her arms and I can tell she's battling with herself inside.

"Katniss?" I call, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"He came to apologize." She repeats, still looking outside. "For his rash behavior when we where younger. For not running when I said we should've." My mind closes around her confession like a vise, but she continues.

"For not telling me how he felt earlier. For Prim." Her voice breaks on her sister's name and my anger subsides. She's biting her bottom lip and there are tears on the edges of her eyes, but she wipes those away quickly.

"He's getting married."

"Married?" I say, almost choking on the word. Katniss seems to deflate as she nods. I reach out and pull her into my arms, stroking her hair to soothe her.

We stand there for a while, listening to the sound of the snow hitting the windowpane. It's calm; all traces of our fight earlier have disappeared. My jealousy has completely vanished. Except that now Gale's beaten me to marrying the girl he loves. Just not in the way I ever expected. The thought makes me laugh.

"What?" Katniss asks, her voice a low hum.

"Just thinking." I answer vaguely with a chuckle.

"Thinking?"

I nod. "I always thought I'd hate him for getting married, cause I always thought it'd be to you."

Katniss gives a sigh and shakes her head slowly.

"Never be me." She murmurs into my shirt. "Too much fire. Although, Johanna isn't much better."

"Johanna? He's marrying Johanna?"

"I said the same thing." She says, laughing softly. "But it'll be ok, I think."

"Never thought Johanna the type to get married." I say. Katniss simply shrugs.

"They invited us to come." She says after a moment of silence.

"Do you want to?"

Another shrug.

"We don't have to, you know. We can just send a letter." I suggest, knowing she won't like that idea. And she doesn't.

"We should go." She decides, looking me in the eye. I nod in agreement and she gives me one of her rare smiles.

"Besides," she yawns, "Johanna would kill me if I didn't go. Literally."

I hum in amusement and hug Katniss closer to me. She's getting tired I can tell. She won't admit it, but fighting tires her out. Just like a small child, she needs to nap after screaming.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"Why-Why did you get roses?"

I look at the floor, where the flowers now lay in a mangled pile. They looked sad and forgotten just lying there so I scoop them up and try to present them to Katniss.

"I hate roses."

She looks at the floor as she says it, avoiding my eyes again. I simply look at her face in confusion, watching as her cheeks become tinged with pink.

"Snow left them as calling cards for me." She explains softly. "He'd leave one in my room or on a desk or have someone give them to me. It's how he would give me warnings or tell me I failed. And in the sewers," her voices breaks off at the memory. Images of us running below the Capitol away from the lizard-mutts and Finnick being torn to pieces fill my mind as Katniss shudders for breath.

"In the sewers," she continues, her voice small, "the things that chased us – the mutts – they reeked of roses."

Her eyes are clamped shut, her hands pressed against her ears as if she could still hear the hissing. She only looked up when she heard the door close behind me.

"Okay." I say, holding her close. "No more roses. I'll get something else instead next time."

She laughs through the small amount of tears she's already shed and paws at her face, trying to clean herself up.

"Katniss." I call, grabbing her attention. Her eyes are red from crying and from fatigue. Her bottom lip is torn from her teeth biting it all day. Her face is flushed, her scars pucker a little in the cold, and her hair is a mess. I don't care.

"I love you." I say, pushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes meet mine as I take hold of her left hand and bring it to my lips. "Now and forever." I remind her as I run my thumb over the cold band than circles her finger promising her to me. She nods and her lips meet mine, telling me she feels the same.


	11. One Short Night

**Hey guys. So to start off, I'm sorry it took me forever to put this up. My muse left me right as I got the idea for this two months ago. If you see her, will you tell her I miss her and want her back? My writing sucks with her gone. But seriously, I've had just a dickens of a time writing this. Between family crap and last quarter of high school there's been little motivation and even less time to write something decent. Again, my apologies. **

**I have no idea what to categorize this one as though. Cause it's angsty at the beginning then fluffy at the end. So angsfy? Flufst? I dunno, you decide. I kinda like it though. Post-MJ and set in a weird way. This is only for one thing so don't kill me, but I toyed with Katniss and Gale together. And I decided I don't like it. So if they're ever together in any of my stuff, they will soon be not together. ha. **

**Anywho, Song of Inspiration is from my favorite band ever Grace Potter and the Nocturnals (seriously go look them up now, they're amazing). There wasn't really any clear train of thought from the song to the story, but I think it makes sense. Just go with it, yeah? **

**One short night with a stranger  
>One full moon over my head<br>One false move and it's over  
>So I always think of what we said, my baby<strong>

**Strange how heavy my heart is**  
><strong>Strange how dark it is tonight<strong>  
><strong>Strange the way this all started<strong>  
><strong>I guess I'm losing track of wrong and right<strong>

**And as the lights go dim**  
><strong>I lie down with him<strong>  
><strong>And as I'm lying there<strong>  
><strong>I can only smell your hair<strong>

**It's like your across the hall**  
><strong>With your ear glued to the wall<strong>  
><strong>And as I move to let him in I can<strong>  
><strong>Feel you crawl under my skin<strong>

**And I can feel you from the inside**  
><strong>Prowling like a devil that I try to hide<strong>  
><strong>I can feel your heart beating<strong>  
><strong>Closer than the poison of my pride<strong>

**Caught up in a moment**  
><strong>I thought I'd feel no shame because I<strong>  
><strong>Didn't have tell you lies<strong>  
><strong>When the daylight came but now<strong>  
><strong>Down goes that silver tear<strong>  
><strong>Down goes my golden year<strong>  
><strong>Down we go in a water slide<strong>  
><strong>That's made up of the tears I've cried<strong>

**And I can feel you from the inside**  
><strong>Prowling like a devil that I try to hide<strong>  
><strong>I can feel your heart beating<strong>  
><strong>Closer than the poison of my pride<strong>

**I can feel you, you're touching me**  
><strong>I look at him but it's you I see, baby<strong>  
><strong>I can feel your heart beating<strong>  
><strong>Closer than the poison of my pride<strong>

**One short night**  
><strong>One short night<strong>

**You know the drill. Add to your favorites/alerts. REVIEW! I send notes back! And most of all enjoy!**

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><p><strong>One Short Night<strong>

"Katniss, what are you doing up here?"

I pick up my head at Gale's question and squint in the sudden light. He's frowning at me, his eyes bleary and tired. His hair is ruffled and tossed, like he just woke up. Which he probably did. It's late. The moon's already high in the sky and even in the lights of 2 you can see the stars. Not as many as in my woods or even in 12 though. The thought makes me sad and I put my chin back down against my arms.

"Nothing." I sighed, staring back over the rooftops.

"_Nothing_ nothing? Or really nothing?"

I raise my eyebrow at him. "What's the difference?"

"Really nothing is sitting up here waiting to fall asleep and then falling off the roof and breaking your neck." He clarifies with a yawn, leaning against the windowsill. "_Nothing _nothing is you're thinking about something but you don't want to tell me."

Now it's my turn to frown. I don't like how he can see through me so well sometimes. And I don't want to tell him what I was thinking, because I know he won't like it. Then he'll get mad, which will just lead to a fight. We've already had two of those today. I don't really want another. Fights with Gale rarely get resolved. Mostly, they just end up with things being smashed or doors slammed and neither of us wanting to even see each other for a while.

When did it get so bad between us? We had never been like this before in 12. Sure we had fought, but those fights were about important things. How much to sell at market that day, whether or not we could risk being in the woods all day, what to shoot, what to kill, what to take home, could we risk selling to new Peacekeepers. But that had changed after the Games. I knew that everything would if I made it home, but I didn't think my relationship with Gale would change that much.

"Katniss." He calls – almost whines – to remind me he's still there. I roll my head to the side, still resting on my arms, to look at him. He's different from back then, but then again we all are. The war changed everyone. Gale's face is only lightly scared, making him even more handsome. Or at least I've heard so from some of the women around 2. I guess I see it. Scars for me don't hold any beauty, though. I just like Gale's strong jaw and bright eyes. His smile is nice too. But it lacks the warmth of another. I shake my head angrily at the thought.

"What are you doing up?" I ask, changing the subject. "It's late. You should be in bed."

"That was my question, Catnip." He shoots back with a tired smirk. "Why are you on the roof, when you should be in our room asleep?"

I huff in frustration. He's as stubborn as ever. Even more than me sometimes.

"I asked you first." I snap childishly. Now it's his turn to raise an eyebrow. We stare at each other, fire in both of our eyes, showing our determination not to go first. Normally, I break first. He's got this odd patience that only comes out with me and dealing with my problems, which I don't have at all. Probably means he loves me more than I love him. But tonight's different. There's no way I'm telling him what I'm thinking.

Finally, Gale sighs and closes his eyes. I feel a slight sense of elation that I won this small battle, but it's short lived as I notice how tired he is. Now all I feel is guilt. But not enough to tell.

"I woke up." He admits with a shrug. "You weren't in bed, so I got worried."

My cheeks burn and I bury my face into my arms. The honest look in his eye makes my chest feel tight, like a noose around my heart. Guilt washes over me, replacing my annoyance with him for coming to look for me.

"I'm sorry." I mumble into my knees. "I needed some air."

It's not completely a lie, I think, but I know he won't believe me. Gale knows me too well to think that's the reason. But he just gives me a look, furrowing his brow while clenching his jaw, and lets it go.

"Come on, Katniss. Come to bed."

I take his outstretched hand and let him lead me to our room. I'm already dressed in my nightclothes so I crawl into bed, letting him turn out the light. The dark seems to cover us like a fog, thick and cold. Cold seeps into my bones, making my skin crawl and sending me into Gale's arms. The fire in his chest burns hot enough to warm me, but it doesn't melt the ice in between my ribs. I burrow in farther, trying to find the cure.

Gale takes my closeness to him to be need. He catches my mouth with his and I feel his passion for me. I try to respond with equal fervor, but I can't feel what I think he deserves. And that's so much more than I give him.

He falls asleep once we're done, his mouth slightly open, letting his snores fill the room. I watch him sleep, my thoughts too intense to let me rest. He looks peaceful in sleep, his face devoid of the deep lines he's developed from scowling so much. He won't admit it, but he's getting age lines around his mouth and eyebrows. But when he sleeps he looks younger, like the boy I met in the woods so long ago.

I reach out to stroke his cheek and Gale moves against me in his sleep. A happy sigh escapes from his chest, the corner of his lips turning up ever so slightly. My heart plummets in my chest and I feel the ice grow a little colder. Because I don't see him. I don't see Gale lying next to me. My mind lightens his hair and skin, doting the area under his eyes with freckles. I can smell the sweat and light tang of metals under his skin but there's a hint of bread on his breath.

I shake my head in attempt to clear my betraying thoughts. I know it's wrong to think of him when I'm so close to Gale. It's wrong to see him in my dreams and every time I close my eyes. It's wrong to imagine his lips on mine when Gale kisses me. It's wrong to hear his voice saying the things Gale only says on nights like these. It's wrong. It's wrong. _It's wrong._

But it doesn't feel wrong. I think of those blue eyes and I'm warm. I imagine his smile and my pulse beats a little faster. I think of his arms around me, engulfing me in that warm scent that only he has and I feel safe. I dream of his voice telling me what he told me so long ago and the ice around my heart melts a little.

I scowl at my thoughts. The sensible part of me disapproves at these feelings. I have everything I could want here. I have a warm home with steady electricity and heat, something that even now in 12 I know is a luxury. I don't have to worry about whether I'll have enough to eat. I have Gale who loves me and tells me so every morning and night.

But then I see something – anything – that reminds me of 12 and I know I'm not happy. I want to be home. I want my woods instead of the industrial district of 2. I want to hunt every day, not because I need to, but because it calms the part of me that cries out in restlessness everyday as I sit in the chair next to President Paylor. I want my role as Mockingjay to be done and to forget all about the war two years ago. I want to hold him and tell him how sorry I am I didn't rescue him before he was tortured. I want the smell of fresh bread and his smile as he shows me he loves me like he used to.

I want Peeta. Him and all he symbolizes in my life. Hope for something new and the strength to put what happened behind me.

Gale stirs next to me and I feel my face flush. I'm as bad as the women that chase after him, thinking of another man while I lay next to one that's devoted himself to me. Except he hasn't, I think. Gale tells me he loves me for sure, but he's nowhere near as attentive as Peeta was in the Games. I shake my head stubbornly. Gale has never been that way. He knows I'm strong enough to take care of myself. But then, I think, so did Peeta. Peeta knew I was capable to do everything on my own but he did things anyways. Little things to show he cared.

I sigh and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't know what to do. Every piece of me wanted to leave, but that would mean leaving Gale. I couldn't hurt him like that, could I? My eyes begin to droop and I relaxed into sleep, my mind filled with warm smiles and fresh bread.

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><p>I stare fixedly at the door, my hand clenched around my hunting bag. The doorknob's rusting slightly around the edges but it still shines in the light. The Capitol varnish couldn't stand up to 12's weather it seems.<p>

The bakery looks almost exactly as the one his father had. Most of the buildings do, I realize. My people are more sentimental than I thought. I can hear a voice from the inside, ordering loaves for the next day's meal. One voice is brighter than the other, laughing at something someone said. It's a woman's and then I hear it. His laugh. The bright one that showed everyone he was happy and content with life.

My stomach flips around as I listen to them laugh. He's happy, I think. The last time I saw him that wasn't what he felt. I have no idea how he'll react to me, showing up without warning. I left 2 this morning after a long fight with Gale. Gale had figured me out like he always did after a few months of my constant thinking and he called me out. The look on his face was one of pure betrayal and hurt. But when I pulled on my father's jacket and opened the door he just looked defeated. Like he knew I was going to make the decision to leave him.

The door opens in front of me, jarring me from my thoughts. A woman not much older than me stands in front of me, blinking in surprise. She looks familiar, but not enough that I can place a face. We stand there for a second, looking at each other in our shock, but she recovers first.

"I'm sorry." She says with a smile. "I didn't see you."

I mumble something about me standing in the door and move to let her pass. She wishes me a good evening as she leaves, the smile never leaving her face. I watch her go, feeling suddenly guilty. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't burden Peeta like this. He won't want me. Not with everything we've been through. He should be with someone like her. Someone who's not afraid to smile at strangers and laughs easily. My feet begin to move back towards the train station and I hope that Gale will take me back. I look back over my shoulder at the bakery and I'm filled with the urge to see him, just once no matter what happens.

Before I can lose my nerve, I grab the doorknob and push it open, letting myself into the warmth of the bakery. I stumble back from the smell and my eyes begin to water. This is it. The smell, the sense, the feeling of the room washes over me and fills me with heat. I had tried to find it in 2; that scent of wheat, burnt metal and sugar and a hint of spices. But none had been all tied up in the comforting smell of strawberries that wafted around. It smelled like him; it smelled like Peeta.

"I'm sorry, we're closed you can come back in the…"

I look up as his voice trails off and instantly I meet his blue eyes. Shock spreads over his features, his eyebrows almost lost in his hair as the skyrocket. His mouth hangs open a little bit and I hear as he breathes in surprise. His eyes, though, capture my attention. His blue eyes cloud over with something I'm afraid of. I look at my boots, my grasp tightening around my bag as I wait for him to speak.

"Katniss?" He asks in a whisper, his tone to soft for me to catch any emotion. I hear him move closer to me slowly, his steps as unsure as my thoughts. This wasn't such a good idea, I decide, and I'm ready to turn tail when I feel him wrap his arms around me. I feel my body go ridged as I feel him shake. My mind fills with the memory of his hands around my neck and the urge to bolt for the door tears through me.

"Katniss."

I freeze mid-step as I feel his hold around me grow tighter. Fear rockets through me. This was a bad idea. I surprised him completely and it's not going well. I don't even have anything to defend myself with I realize, mentally kicking myself for being so careless.

"Katniss."

"Peeta?" My voice is small, but I'm confused. He sounds like he's… laughing?

"You're here." He answers in that same breathy tone, burying his face into my hair. One of his hands comes up behind my head to press me further into him. My ear now pressed against his chest I hear his voice rumbling inside. He really is laughing.

"Peeta?" I call, trying to look at his face. "Peeta, what's going on?"

And then his lips cover mine. He's soft and light but there's so much fire behind his kiss that I'm overwhelmed and grab onto his apron for support. I kiss back, trying to show him I understand and that I feel the same.

We break for air and I have to lean against him until my head stops spinning. He just holds me, his arms almost crushing me against him. But I don't care.

"You came back." He whispers into my hair.

"Always." I answer.

"Stay. Stay this time."

I pull his face down for another kiss. This one's slow but just as heated. We part for air and I look straight into his eyes.

"I promise." I whisper, pressing my forehead against his. "I love you."


	12. Who Do You Love?

**Hey there, hey there. Happy summer vacation! I think everybody's on that right now. Well except if you live in the Southern Hemisphere... then I guess Merry Christmas? I don't actually know how that works... Anyways, I love summer. All warm and lots of time to do things. Like get a job. I've got one of those now. I'm going into college, I have a job that pays more than minimum wage, and I'm worried about things that I shouldn't be. I'm officially an adult! And it kinda scares me. Ah oh well.**

**So this one is a bit different. It's fluff and is not told from either of their perspective. I wanted to try something different so forgive me if it's weird. It's long, but not at the same time, which I promise makes sense. It's set in a different reality, where Katniss and Peeta are friends and there's no Games. So happy stuff. They're both the same age as they were in Book 1 so it's nothing weird. **

**A quick thank you to everyone who took the time to review or add to their favorites/alerts. You all became my favorite people ever.**

**Song of Inspiration is "Who Do You Love, I Hope" by Irving Berlin. It's a cute song, but I didn't really want to use all of the lyrics. So I'm just putting the chorus, cause that's all you really need to get a feel for things.**

**Who do you love I hope  
>Who would you kiss I hope<br>Who is it going to be  
>I hope, I hope, I hope it's me<br>**

**So as always, I hope you all like it. Don't forget to review and add to your lists! So please enjoy! :D**

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><p><strong>Who Do You Love?<strong>

Peeta?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you cold?"

"No."

"But… it's freezing. And your shirt's wet."

"So?"

"So aren't you cold?"

"Nope."

"…You're weird."

"Ok."

"'OK'? I just insulted you and that's it?"

"You didn't insult me. I like weirdness."

"What?"

"I like weirdness. You're weird. I like you. Plus, coming from you it's a compliment."

"…"

"You're cute when you blush."

"Shut up…. Don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

"That one. The one that says you're thinking something about me." "I am thinking about you, Katniss."

"Well, stop it."

"Your head's on my chest. Kinda hard not to think of you. Ow! Don't flick me!"

"Then don't think about me."

"Fine. I'll think about Madge then."

"Madge? Why Madge?"

"She's pretty."

"… Yeah. That's it?"

"Yeah. And she doesn't flick me. Unlike _some _people."

"I'll do it again."

"Uh-huh."

_Flick_

"Ow!"

"Told you."

"See Madge would do that."

"Then why don't you go talk to _her _instead? I'm sure you two would have loads of fun together."

"Well actually, I was thinking of asking her to the Formal."

"What? … Really?"

"Yep."

"Oh…"

"…"

"Since when?"

"Since my first choice decided she wasn't going."

"Don't blame her. Formals are dumb." … "Who was your first choice?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Does too. Any girl would have to be brainwashed to not go with you."

"I didn't ask her. I just heard she really didn't want to go."

"Why didn't you ask her? She might've said yes."

"I don't think so."

"I do."

"Probably not."

"Wait. She probably wouldn't have or I probably don't know?"

"Both."

"…That makes no sense."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't!"

"Yes it does, Katniss. You're just not thinking."

"Don't laugh at me."

"Don't poke me."

"Why? Cause it tickles?"

"No."

"Liar."

"It doesn't."

"Uh-huh."

"What are you going to do?"

"Huh?"

"Instead of the Formal. What are you going to do?"

"Oh. I dunno. Probably hang out with Gale."

"Gale?"

"Uh-huh. Probably go hunting or find something to do in the woods."

"…What if he has a date?"

"He won't."

"What if he does? He's pretty cute, you know?"

"Peeta!"

"What? I'm serious!"

"I can't believe you."

"All I'm saying is I'd tap that."

"WHAT?"

"Breathe, Katniss."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"You should totally see your face right now. It's pretty hilarious."

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Maybe just a little."

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously though. What if he has a date?"

"…Then I'll stay home. Or go into the woods myself."

"All by yourself?"

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"Because I know you get lonely."

"I do not!"

"Please."

"I don't!"

"Then why are we here?"

"…"

"See? You get lonely."

"No!"

"Then why?"

"…Cause."

"Uh-huh."

"Shut up, Peeta."

"Ok. I'm just right."

"Shut up."

"…"

"You shouldn't go with Madge."

"Huh?"

"You shouldn't go with Madge."

"Why?"

"Cause."

"Vague much?"

"I just don't think you should."

"Why?"

_Cause I'm in love with you._

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Cause then I'll be lonely."

"Ha. Told you."

"Shut up."

"I thought you were going to hang out with Gale?"

"He's got a date."

"Really?"

"Probably. Like you said, he's cute. Lot's of girls fall over him."

"Oh. That's too bad."

"Why?"

"Cause I know you like hanging out with him."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess."

"Katniss."

"Yeah?"

"If I don't go…"

"Uh-huh?"

"What will we do?"

"I dunno. Probably just this."

"Oh. Ok."

"Why?"

_Cause I love it when you talk to me like this._

"Peeta?"

"Cause this is easy to plan for. I don't have to find anything to wear."

"Clothes would be appreciated."

"Admit it. You'd like it if that didn't happen."

_Yes. _"Ew, no!"

"Suuure."

"You and your ego."

"My ego is nicely sized thank you, Miss I-Can-Do-Everything."

"I can't do everything."

"Yes, you can."

"Name one thing I can do that no one else in 12 can do."

_Make me love you. _"I dunno."

"See? Can't do everything."

"Fine. You can do a lot."

"I _can_ do a lot."

"Ego."

"Shut up."

"… It's getting dark."

"Very observant, Peeta."

"I'm serious, Katniss."

"Ok, yeah, it's getting dark. So what?"

"I'm getting cold."

"I told you!"

"My shirt hasn't dried out. I thought it would."

"Uh-huh."

"Point is: should we go inside?"

"Yeah… Probably."

"Hey! Look, it's a shooting star!"

"Where? I didn't see it."

"You missed it; you must have blinked. That's ok just make a wish."

"But I didn't see it."

"Katniss."

"What? I didn't see it! I can't wish if I didn't see it! That's the rule!"

"Well, I won't tell anyone. So wish."

"Are you gunna wish?"

"Of course I am. What kinda a question is that?"

"Whatever."

"Here, we'll wish at the same time ok?"

"Ok. On three?"

"On three. Ready?"

"One."

"Two."

"THREE!"

_I wish you'd love me as much as I love you._


	13. A Promise

**Hey there! Sorry for the late update. Life got in the way, what with my internship and getting ready for college. Anyways, here's the one I was supposed to get up last month. It's crazy long for me, so I hope you're happy. I should have the one I wanted up for this month up soon. It's in the works so it should be soon, provided I get any kinda time to work on it. My family's moving across country so my house is filled with boxes and I have, like, zero time to myself to do anything. Ah well. C'est la vie. **

**Song of Inspiration is "A Promise" from the musical Next to Normal. It's one of those double songs, so if you want to listen to it look up "Why Stay/A Promise" from the musical. I've been wanting to do a fic for this song for a really long time now, but just didn't know how to go about it. Then one day I was at work and it was like BAM! idea. Took me forever to get it up and running though. It starts out from Peeta's point of view then switches to Katniss for clarification. It after MJ, so I took a little bit of liberties with things. Remember, I own nothing.**

**A promise a boy says forever  
>A boy says whatever may come will come through<br>and who can know how when all I know now to be true,  
>is this promise that I made to you.<br>A question a boy wonders whether (a boy wonders  
>should I stay) should I stay together the way that they stay<br>(ohhh either way) for year after year for love or fear either way  
>thats the promise that I made that day<br>Here's what I say to the girl who was burning so brightly  
>Like the light from Orion above<br>And still I will search for her nightly if you see her please send her my love  
>And the boy was a boy for all seasons<br>That boy is long lost to me now (long lost, so lost)  
>And the man has forgotten his reasons (his reasons ohhh)<br>But the man still remembers his vow.  
>A promise a man says forever<br>A man says I'll never regret or let you  
>The promise I made to stay and I stay true.<br>Knowing one day we'd remember that joy You'd remember that girl  
>I'd remember that boy till we do<br>The promise I made I'll make it brand new.  
>A promise that I made to you.<strong>

**Alerts make me happy, Reviews make my day! ;] Hope you enjoy**

* * *

><p><strong>A Promise<strong>

I stare at myself in the mirror and try not to make faces. But I can't help it. My eyes cross and my tongue pops out from in between my lips. I see Gale raise an eyebrow at me from over my shoulder and I return my face to normal, giving him a sheepish grin. He just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me and goes back to trying to smooth out my tie.

It's just all so ridiculous. Every little bit of it. From the flowers and cake – I wasn't even allowed to touch it – to the amount of people that turned up for this. Like we're our own little Games. Effie whispered to me last night that it was even going to be televised. As if the two of us hadn't been seen enough on every television screen in the country already. Something tells me it was Plutarch's idea. To publicize that things were indeed getting better if something like this could happen.

I chuckle at the thought. Things had gotten better. Not only in the country but also in our own lives. My flashbacks have been less and less lately. Nowadays, I only have one or two a season. The bakery is staying afloat; business is good and it's picking up slightly. Soon I'll have to hire someone to help just to meet the daily quota.

And everything at home is perfect. She's calm as can be, only getting the wild look when it's just the two of us in our most private moments. And then the wildness in her eye isn't something of fear, but rather something incredibly different. The first time, I think it scared her, the feel of the rush of passion and heat. She had pushed herself away from me, putting distance between what she didn't know and what she was comfortable with. But eventually…

"What are you smiling at?" Gale's voice cuts through my thoughts. I realize I'm grinning like a fool, my eyes gleaming with something that I recognize from her eyes. My cheeks become tinged with pink and I let loose a breath of a laugh. Again, Gale raises an eyebrow at me.

"On second thought, I don't want to know." He says with a snort of amusement.

"It's not what you're thinking." I lie.

"Sure it isn't." He nods, giving me a knowing look before laughing out right at me. "Please. You forget, Peeta, I got married too. You think I didn't think about Johanna like you're thinking about Katniss?"

"That's disgusting." I say.

"You're disgusting." He shoots back. "You're the one doing it."

I shake my head at him, but don't deny it. He knows. He's been through this before. I simply hold out my hand for my tie.

It's been two years since Gale and Johanna's wedding and, as far as I can tell, they're the picture of happiness. They fit well together. The fire Katniss had talked about seems to still be there – they fight about everything – but it is, for the most part, something like a campfire; warm and beautiful to watch, but still nasty if you make it angry. You can't deny the joy they have; it's plain to see on their faces, even after two years of marriage. And now they have a son, Pan, who follows Gale everywhere if he isn't attached to his mother. It's frightening how much Pan looks like his father, except for his mother's eyes. Katniss swears he's going to be exactly like Gale when he's older, but I think Johanna will be more of an effect, seeing they're constantly together.

I smile at myself in the mirror as I work at my tie. Katniss spends a fair amount of time with Pan now, too. Gale and Johanna decided to move back to 12 after the birth of their child. Something about not wanting to raise a kid in the city. Katniss had rolled her eyes at that reason and muttered under her breath about Gale's family. They moved into my house in the Victors Village, since I wasn't using it anymore, and will drop Pan at our home when they want a few hours off. For the first few days, it was just me and him, baking and trying to teach him to paint and anything else we could find to do. And then Katniss figured out he wasn't going to break at the slightest touch. They got along so well, there was a whole week where Pan stayed with us before Johanna got separation anxiety. Johanna. With separation anxiety. The irony was not lost on the four of us.

"You did it wrong." Gale points out with a teasing tone. I blink and look more carefully at my tie. Damn it. I did do it wrong. I give a huff of frustration as I tear at the knot to do it over. My fingers start to shake slightly and I'm having issues telling them what to do.

"Here." Gale puts his hand on my shoulder before ridding me of the strip of cloth. He rolls his eyes at me as if he can't believe what an idiot I am. But there's a glint of amusement and understanding in them that keeps me from biting his head off. Instead, I nod my thanks and sink into the chair next to me.

"Breathe." He commands, looking at me through the reflection in the mirror. "You'll be fine."

I nod, but work to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. Where did this come from? This unexpected anxiety. This sudden nervousness. My mouth's gone dry and I'm pulling at my collar, trying to get some air.

"Hey," Gale says, turning around and looking me in the eye, "you'll be fine."

I stare at him before nodding slowly and running my hand through my hair. The prep team will have a fit when they see I've touched it, and the thought makes me laugh. Katniss was right; they are like little pets, obsessing over silly things like how my hair needs to be gelled just _so_. Nothing can be wrong for today.

Nothing will be wrong, I vow, my confidence coming back. I check myself in the mirror as Gale returns my bowtie to me, perfectly knotted in place. I look good, I tell myself. But not as good as she'll look. She'll be the picture of perfection. The thought fills my mind as Gale ushers me out the door.

"Ready?"

I reach in my pocket for the napkin I know is there, fiddling with it. I probably won't need it, but it's good just to have for notes. Just in case.

"Ready."

* * *

><p>My hands clench around the loose fabric in my skirt so hard my knuckles turn white. My breath catches in my throat as the door before me opens a crack, but it's just Pan who slips through. He waddles up to me on his cubby legs and tugs on my skirt with a small fist.<p>

"Mommy's coming." He informs me around the thumb that's jammed in his mouth, his eyes wide. I try to smile at him, but the muscles in my face don't move right. I hope I don't scare him too much. I bet I look like a fright.

"Pan!" Johanna hisses in a half-whisper, sliding past the door. "Pan, what did I tell you about running off like that?"

Johanna's slight hysteria sends a strangled laugh through me, reducing the bubble of panic that had begun to form in my chest slightly. She raises an eyebrow at me while scooping her son into her arms. He mumbles an apology into her shoulder and goes back to sucking on his thumb. I watch as she rolls her eyes fondly at him, adjusting him to sit more comfortably on her hip.

"You ok?" She asks me, noticing my fists curled around my skirt. I give a shaky nod, unable to find my voice. I work on relaxing my hands, flexing my fingers. My skirt looks mangled and mussed, but I can't find the heart to care at the moment. The lump has returned to my throat and my mouth is dry as sand.

"Just nervous, I guess." I choke out, my voice sounding hoarse and abused.

"Don't be." She tells me bluntly. "You love him."

I nod, but still focus on loosening the muscles in my hands.

"You're not going to get all cold feet on me are you?" Johanna narrows her eyes at me. "Because, so help me, Katniss, I will drag you out there myself if I have to."

This forces another laugh from me and I feel my body relax.

"No." I assure her. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Good." She nods firmly before reaching out to smooth out my skirt. "I'd really hate to ruin your dress. Blood never looks good on white."

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried." I tease. She shrugs and lets the challenge drop. Probably because of the boy in her arms. But I see the gleam in her eyes. The one that tells me if this wasn't my wedding day and if Pan wasn't with her she'd be on top of me, trying to kill me. In a friendly way of course. I return her gaze with a bit of amusement.

"I'm hungry."

Johanna sighs at Pan's confession and she pokes him in the belly.

"You'll just have to wait until after the ceremony. It won't be long." She tells him giving me a pointed look. I roll my eyes at her bossy stare. It may be my wedding, but everything will still go by Johanna's clock. At least, if she has any say about it.

"You have everything? Your promise?" She looks at me like she expects me to go running for the door. I nod and show her the small piece of paper I'd been reviewing all morning. It's crumpled and torn a bit from me folding and refolding it so many times, but the writing on it is still clear as day.

"I haven't forgotten anything." I say, my voice soft. "I'm not going anywhere."

As soon as the word leaves my lips, music comes from the opposite side of the door. My stomach drops and I feel my heartbeat speed up ever so slightly. Something akin to terror rips through me as Johanna sets Pan on the floor and pushes him forward to hold my hand, because this is it. This is the moment that was supposed to happen so long ago before our lives were torn apart. This was the moment that an entire nation had wanted to see. Everyone except for the two people that would take part in it.

Something inside my head tells me to run. Run far, far away. Into the woods and never come out. It's the same part of me that sent me scurrying away into hiding after the announcement of the Quarter Quell. The part of me that almost shot Peeta with an arrow in my first Games. The part of me that shrinks away from his touch, his kisses, his loving words. The part of me that's afraid of anything that shows the smallest threat of hurting me.

I take a deep breath and shove that instinct aside. I will not run away. Not this time. This time I'm ready. I'm ready to marry him. It's what I want. Not what the government wants to keep people pacified. Not what other people want to keep the two of us safe. It's what we want. The two of us. Everyone else just gets the privilege of watching.

With a quick glance over her shoulder at me, making sure I really am not about to make a run for it, Johanna shoves the door open to the square. Sunlight momentarily blinds me as I follow her out, Pan's hand in mine. He's my wide-eyed escort for the few steps it takes for me to reach Haymitch, who's looking sober for the first in a long time. What little hair he has left is combed down and he actually shaved for the event. But he still squints and sneers at me, even though I can see something that looks like pride in his eyes.

"Hey there, Sweetheart." He says, his tone mocking and dry as usual. "Ready?"

I shrug and let him take my arm before looking behind him at the gathering of people. It seems everyone and then everyone they know decided to show for the occasion. Dresses from Capitol pink to dull district greys fill the square. Some of the men wear formal jackets and coats in bright colors while others had simply put on their best shirts. It strikes me that only a few years ago these people would look the same, waiting in silent dread for their own or loved one's name to be called. But today, they talk in small groups, laughing loud and bright, unafraid to be seen in their happiness. Unafraid to share that happiness with others.

Haymitch steers me towards the group. A few people catch sight of us, falling silent and stepping aside. The action ripples out through the crowd until everyone in the square is quiet, their attention trained on Haymitch and me.

I look shyly around before I notice Effie Trinket standing up on the stage. She's wearing a soft pink dress with a matching wig, her shoes for once seeming sensible. The outfit for some reason seems familiar to me. And suddenly, I'm back in my blue dress, my throat dry after shouting Prim's name and volunteering myself. The walk to the stage is the walk to my death; surely the boy standing next to Effie will kill me in the upcoming weeks. If not him, then someone else.

_Wait, _I think, shaking my head clear of the vision. Peeta had been called after me. Prim – my heart gives a funny little flutter as I think of her – is gone. This isn't the Reaping. We aren't about to die. To say we're safe is something I will never be able to do, but I know there isn't any danger up on that stage. Not right now. Not when I can see him waiting for me with a smile.

Haymitch stops me at the bottom of the steps, his hands on my shoulders. His gaze is warm and, just like so many times before, tells me everything he wants me to know. I raise an eyebrow at him as he clears his throat, appearing that he might actually say something out loud. But he seems to think better of it and instead wraps me in a rare, genuine hug, before pushing up towards Peeta.

The majority of the ceremony is quick. There's an official from the new Capitol who acts as the conductor. He speaks in a booming voice to be heard throughout the square, but Peeta and I have to work not to wince since he's standing two feet away from us. I catch Peeta's eye at one point and he gives me a knowing wink. Truthfully, we're already married. We did the toasting last night by ourselves, agreeing that it felt more personal with just the two of us. Plus Gale and Johanna of course. Johanna would chop me in half with her axe if she found out we had done it without her. This ceremony is just for show. Like everything else we've done, it's for the public eye. All Plutarch's idea of promos showing the recovering and prospering nation.

Finally, we come to the promises. Peeta is supposed to go first, according to Capitol custom. His hand goes for his pocket and I clench my fist around my own paper. No one breathes as he unfolds the simple napkin. I can feel the entire county watching his fingers, his mouth, his eyes just like I am.

"I promise," he begins, his blue eyes beaming with unsuppressed joy, "to keep you in good heath – both in body and in mind. I promise to bake when you can't hunt, and to always have at least a dozen of your favorite cookies in our kitchen at all time. Just so long as you don't eat them too fast. I promise to let you shower first, even if I get up hours before you. I promise to hold you through your nightmares, whenever they happen, so you'll always come back to me. I promise to help channel your fire into more productive things" – he wiggles his eyebrows at me and I feel my face go scarlet – "so it doesn't consume you. I promise to listen to what you say and even more to what you don't. More than anything though, I promise and swear upon my life to always love you in everything I do and everything I say. And I will forever promise to say with you."

There's a collective sigh and copious amounts of cooing from our audience as Peeta finishes. I'm about to begin with my own promises when he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. My flush spreads from my face to my ears and neck as he flashes me the smile that he usually reserves for behind our bedroom door. And then I hear it. He whispers, "Always," and my heart suddenly soars. The official clears his throat, casting Peeta a pointed look. Peeta merely smiles politely and straightens, waiting for me to begin. With trembling hands, I unfold the crumpled paper I have been carrying with me for the past week. My words would never be as beautiful as his, but I've never been one to focus on beauty.

"I promise –" my voice breaks off and I have to start over. "I promise," I say, looking him in the eye, "to make you smile everyday. I promise to pick you all the strawberries you want. Just so long as it's in the season. I promise to keep meat on the table, so you don't have to bake any more than you want. I promise to not use up all the hot water in the shower, no matter how much I want to. I promise to talk you through your flashbacks, even if I have nothing to say, and then kiss you the moment you come back to me. I promise to overcome my habit of distancing myself from you. I promise to let you in more than I have with anyone before. And above all, I promise to continue to be the person you believe me to be. Because she and I agree that there's no one else we could feel this way about. So, I forever promise to love you until I die."

Peeta is positively glowing with happiness. It radiates from him like a sun and is so infectious I have to fight down a giggle that bubbles up in my throat.

"And even after, too." I add softly as Peeta takes my hand again.

The Capitol official booms out the remainder of the ceremony, even the soft bit where he ties Peeta and I together with Prim's handkerchief. Traditionally in Capitol ceremonies the cloth is sewn from fabrics from the two families, signifying their union. My mother had passed away two months ago – the stress of loosing Prim finally swallowing her whole – so the only thing left from either of our families is the small white square of fabric Prim traded her favorite ribbon for when she was seven. She had even stitched in her initials to be sure she never lost it. It makes me almost feel like she's with us, tying the cloth around our hands with her careful hands. It's a happy thought. One that doesn't hurt to think of.

With a flourish, the official frees our hands and pronounces us man and wife. The crowd sighs and crows in adoration as Peeta sweeps me into his arms and kisses me on the mouth with a gentle passion that sends tingles to the tips of my being. Effie bawls on Haymitch's shoulder behind us, unabashed and uncaring that her make-up now runs down her face like soot stains. Someone – probably Plutarch – gives a signal and suddenly the square is filled with confetti and ribbons, the like I have not seen since our Victors Ceremony after our first Games.

Peeta takes my arm and leads me down the steps and through the crowd, waving and smiling like the showman he is. My own face practically howls in pain, I'm smiling and laughing so hard in my joy. It doesn't quite seem real, this feeling. I had never allowed myself to feel so happy in my life, so I'm surprised I can. And it's all because of him, I think. The wonderful boy with the bread who came to my rescue so many times. What would I do without him? Peeta catches my eye and gives me another searing kiss that convinces me he had just been thinking the same.

Somewhere, a violin begins to play and our wedding party is swept away in the only way District 12 knows how. Everyone in the square begins to dance, their bodies alive in their euphoria. From the men who gather in circles to show off their footwork, to the women who run into the circles to grab a partner, to the children who simply run around in delight, there's not a still body in the area. It's not until after I dance with Peeta for the fifth time that I think just maybe, we really have something to live for.

When we finally arrive at our home, it's practically morning of the next day. My feet hurt from dancing for so long and my legs threaten to give out from under me. I'm so tired, the thought of climbing the stairs to our bedroom makes me cringe. The couch in the living room looks so comfortable. Hell, the floor looks so inviting I'm tempted to just fall down and not move until the late afternoon.

But Peeta has other ideas. He catches my arm and spins me to him, capturing my mouth with his. He's so wonderfully warm and comforting I just want to fall into him and not move. I'm in his arms in an instant and he carries me up the stairs into our room. His eyes burn holes into me in the low light and I immediately forget my fatigue.

"I love you." He tells me and I rush to repeat the words back to him. I feel him lay me back and I know I'm safe. Here in his arms, I'm safe. Here by his side, I'm loved and cared for. Here with Peeta, I never have to be afraid. Because he is my reason for living, just as I am his. As long as he's here I have something to live for. A promise to keep, to remember, and to hold as long as I live.


	14. Need You Now

**Hey there! I know I promised this last month or at least with the first week of the month. In response I have five words: Life as a college freshman. It's new, it's exhilarating, it's scary, it's a jumble of things. My goal though is to continue updating once a month. But we'll see how that works as the year picks up. **

**Song of Inspiration: Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. This was one of the first ideas I had for these two but I just never really knew how to do it. Funny how your original idea of something can change. Anyways, if it's confusing, feel free to message me or ask questions in your ****review (please review!). But I think it's pretty self-explanitory. Then again I did write it... ah well, c'est la vie. **

**Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor**  
><strong>Reachin' for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore<strong>  
><strong>And I wonder if I ever cross your mind<strong>  
><strong>For me it happens all the time<strong>  
><strong>It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>And I don't know how I can do without<strong>  
><strong>I just need you now<strong>  
><strong>Another shot of whiskey can't stop looking at the door<strong>  
><strong>Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before<strong>  
><strong>And I wonder if I ever cross your mind<strong>  
><strong>For me it happens all the time <strong>  
><strong>It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>And I don't know how I can do without<strong>  
><strong>I just need you now<strong>  
><strong>Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothin' at all<strong>  
><strong>It's a quarter after one I'm all alone and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>And I said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now<strong>  
><strong>And I don't know how I can do without <strong>  
><strong>I just need you now<strong>  
><strong>I just need you now<strong>  
><strong>Ooo, baby, I need you now<strong>

**Takes place after MJ. Hope you like! :]**

* * *

><p><strong>Need You Now<strong>

_Katniss's POV_

I stare at the glass in front of me. It's empty again. I can see the wood of the table underneath. Mahogany, something says in the back of my mind. The voice has a slight edge of pride to it, like it personally made the table. I scoff and pick up my knife, only to stab it farther into the wood. A laugh like a hushed bark escapes me as the Effie-like voice shrieks in my head.

The glass disappears from my sight for a second. I don't look up. I know it will return full, like some kind of Capitol magic. And it does. The bourbon blends with the table and my vision swims. The table jumps up, threatening to spill my drink. Leaving me with no choice. I clutch the glass and raise it into the air, draining it in one gulp, before slamming it back down. There. That ought to keep the table in line.

Except now my glass is empty again. I frown, trying to remember when that happened. A different memory surfaces instead. It's loud and angry and it hurts. I flinch and growl, the alcohol thankfully chasing it away. I still can't remember what happened to my drink. I shrug. It doesn't matter. I know how to get more. The knife is in my hand again; ready to signal the Capitol magic. I move to throw it back down, but my something stills my hand.

"The table's had enough, Sweetheart." A voice says above me. "And, I think, so have you."

"Leggo." I say, my words slurring together like melted snow. I try to pull my hand free. The force becomes stronger and the knife is pulled from my grip. I struggle; my signal is gone and, without it, I can't tell the magic when my glass is empty. But now the glass is gone too. I cease my struggling to stare confusedly at the now empty table. Where'd it go?

"Now," the voice says, "you wanna tell me what's going on?"

I feel my lip stick out in a pout at the question. No, I don't want to say what's going on. My drink is gone and I'm tired. The voice sounds tired, I think. I wonder what time it is? Last I knew, it was morning. But that had been before my nap. The table had just been soooo comfy. It's a very nice table, I think, giving the wood a hesitant smile. But someone put these big, mean scratches in it.

"What happened?" I ask, running my hand over a particularly deep scratch.

"What?"

"The table." I reply, my voice soft. "It has an owchie." I look up to show the voice. "See? Right there." I tap my finger against the wood.

My world spins and tilts as I try to focus on the person standing over me. Wow, they're tall. Almost like a tree. That confuses me for a second. Why would a tree be here in Haymitch's house? That makes no sense at all. I scowl in my puzzlement as my vision focuses. The face belongs to a man. He's looking at me all funny. One of his eyebrows is higher than the other and his mouth is pulled down in a frowny-face. He looks familiar, I think, and have to take a minute to place him.

"You're Haymitch!" I tell him, pointing up at his face.

"Um, yes." He says, almost like a question. Is he not sure either? I wasn't.

"I thought you were my father." I tell him with a laugh. Then I say very seriously, "My father's dead."

Not-sure-Haymitch gives a sigh and rubs the skin between his eyes with his fingers. He looks tired. He should sleep more. Tables are good for sleeping. I think about telling him that when I see he's holding a bottle. And my glass. Which still happens to be empty.

"Hey," I whine, squinting at his hand, "that's mine!"

And then I vomit all over the floor.

* * *

><p><em>Peeta's POV<em>

I stare at the counter. Breathe, I tell myself. Just calm down and breathe. I close my eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count to ten.

_One._

Her grey eyes burn in my mind's eye.

_Two._

Her voice is hoarse in my ears after shouting.

_Three._

She growls in her frustration, her hands clutching at her head.

_Four._

I hear myself shouting back.

_Five._

Something's thrown at me. It's her ring.

_Six._

She says she's leaving. Not coming back.

_Seven._

I shout I don't want her back.

_Eight._

The door slams behind her.

_Nine._

She left without her coat. It's snowing outside.

_Ten._

I pick her ring up off of the floor.

I messed up. I did. Or she did, is more accurate, I guess. God, she messed up bad. And then got defensive. You're always so defensive, Katniss.

I pound the dough on the counter in front of me, channeling my anger into it. I'm still mad. Of course, I'm still mad. The things she said… My vision blurs as I think of our fight again, and I force myself to breathe. Calm down. I've already had two flashbacks since she left. Anger triggers them easier than anything else and they're harder to fight when I feel violent to begin with. And she's not here to guide me back.

My eye catches the glint of her ring. It's sitting on the counter to my right, bathed in the bleak light of winter. Funny, I've never noticed what it really looks like. I found it buried in a drawer in 13 and kept it with me ever since. It's simple; a plain gold band, the varnish slightly worn down. She loved it. I haven't seen her take it off since I gave it to her a year ago. And now…

I find myself blinking rapidly as I go back to my dough, pawing at my eyes with the back of my hand. Why does she have to be so damn aggravating? She knows exactly how to make me snap – just the right words or movements to set me on edge. And then, at the first sign of conflict, she disappears. Gone to treat her unseen wounds and leaving me behind. Always leaving me behind.

I don't know where she goes, either. She never tells me when she comes back. And that's what scares me the most. I'm not afraid she'll ever really leave me – we've both been through too much for that to happen by now. I'm just scared she'll run off and never come back. She'll get hurt or something will happen that won't let her come back to me. My biggest fear is a world without her. A world where I have to live on, but she's not with me. I wouldn't know how to _be_ anymore.

I sigh and make fists around the dough. It's soft enough now. I should put it in the oven, but it's helping. The feel of the starch under my hands, having complete control over some small thing in my life, soothes me. Even if it's only bread. I close my eyes and just focus on it, molding it with my fingers, pulling, stretching, rolling, and pinching.

While I work, I picture Katniss standing next to me. Her dark hair is pulled back and her grey eyes watch my hands. I feel her warmth at my side and her hand covers mine as she plays with the flour in between my fingers. She entwines our hands, hers still covering mine, and runs her thumb over my palm.

"Peeta."

Her voice is like snow, wrapping around my name, kissing it softly before melting with affection. Her breath is warm on my ear, brushing against my sideburns like a spring breeze.

"I'm sorry."

I open my eyes at her whisper. Katniss is there at my side, like I summoned her into being just with my thoughts. She looks at me like a child expecting to be scolded, guilt and sorrow written over her face for only me to see. I move my free hand up to cup her cheek and smile when she tilts her head into me.

How can I be mad when she's looking at me like that? She, who so seldom shows how she's truly feeling. Open displays of tenderness from Katniss are so rare; I have to treasure each and every one. We don't speak – words would simply ruin this moment – and just stand there, our fingers intertwined and our foreheads touching.

I reach behind her for her ring and hold out for her. She smiles, sheepish and shy, and wraps her hand around it. Neither of us let go.

"I'm sorry."

I feel her words rather than hear them as she breathes. I just smile and shake my head slightly at her. She came back to me. That's all that matters. That's all that ever matters. She tries to say something else but I cut her off with a slight kiss. When we part, her cheeks are tinged with a cute pink but she doesn't try to speak. So we just stand in the kitchen, breathing each other in as the snow falls outside.

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><p><strong>I'll admit, not the best I've done. I got the idea of Katniss being drunk and I just had to put it in. So sorry if it doesn't feel cohesive with the rest of the piece. Anyways, don't forget to review and add to your favoritesalerts! :]**


	15. I Will Wait

**Hey there, everyone! Happy autumn! I love fall. Pretty colors of the leaves, wonderful crisp air, yummy apple cider. It's a great time of year. **

**And speaking of fall, this little one shot is kinda inspired by it! That and the SoI - "I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons (which y'all should listen to to get the feel of this piece). The whole "Babel" album is just ****great fall music. Truth be told, I had a different one all planned out and halfway written when the idea struck me for this one and I just had to put it down. I would've had it up sooner, but I recently broke my wrist and as anyone can tell you, it's really hard to type long paragraphs with only one hand...**

**Things to know about this piece: it's an AU. Set in kinda a WWI British era. Least that's the vibe I got. Katniss's family works for Peeta's family, which is how they met and fell in love, obviously. I tried to keep everyone the same in temperment so let me know how I did ok?**

**Well I came home**  
><strong>Like a stone<strong>  
><strong>And I fell heavy into your arms<strong>  
><strong>These days of dust<strong>  
><strong>Which we've known<strong>  
><strong>Will blow away with this new sun<strong>

**But I'll kneel down wait for now**  
><strong>And I'll kneel down<strong>  
><strong>Know my ground<strong>

**And I will wait I will wait for you**  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>

**So break my step**  
><strong>And relent<strong>  
><strong>Well you forgave and I won't forget<strong>  
><strong>Know what we've seen<strong>  
><strong>And him with less<strong>  
><strong>Now in some way shake the excess<strong>

**'Cause I will wait I will wait for you**  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>

**Now I'll be bold**  
><strong>As well as strong<strong>  
><strong>And use my head alongside my heart<strong>  
><strong>So tame my flesh<strong>  
><strong>And fix my eyes<strong>  
><strong>A tethered mind freed from the lies<strong>

**And I'll kneel down**  
><strong>Wait for now<strong>  
><strong>I'll kneel down<strong>  
><strong>Know my ground<strong>

**Raise my hands**  
><strong>Paint my spirit gold<strong>  
><strong>And bow my head<strong>  
><strong>Keep my heart slow<strong>

**'Cause I will wait I will wait for you**  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>  
><strong>And I will wait I will wait for you<strong>

**Don't forget to add to your Favorites/Alerts! And I'll make a deal with you guys: Ten reviews, and I'll get the next one up before this time next month. Twenty, and I'll do it within two weeks. Thirty? It'll be up by this time next week. Sound good? Hope you enjoy! :]**

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><p><strong>I Will Wait<strong>

She runs up the gravel road as fast as her feet will take her. She's late. She knows she is. She heard the old grandfather clock chime in the parlor while she sorted through the old books. Prim had laughed at her as she tore out the door, teasing her good-naturedly. Mrs. Mellark had hollered after her, threatening to work her all night, but she didn't care. She'd worry about the mountain of chores later. All she knows is she's late.

The postman is still there as she reaches the top of the hill. About to drive off, but still there. She runs harder, determined to catch him. She screams at him to wait. He looks up at her call. She can see his amused smirk, his tired eyes lighting up just a little. There's not much joy in his life, so he takes all he can get. Even if it is a little cruel. But he waits, letting his engine run as she skids to a stop.

She gasps for breath, hands on her knees. She looks at him, wiping her dark hair from her face. Her eyes plead with him, bright with excitement, but scared all the same. Please, they say to him. Please let today be the day.

"Something wrong, Sweetheart?" He asks, his smirk growing a bit. She scowls, still panting in her exhaustion, but now managing to stand upright. Her cheeks are flushed a bright pink, both from her run and from the crisp autumn air. She tries to compose herself by brushing her hands on her trousers. The action does nothing for her appearance, but she feels a tad bit calmer.

"Is there…" her voice trails off. She's afraid of being disappointed again. Afraid of being stupid enough to hope. Afraid of returning back to the house with nothing to show for her foolish act of sprinting for the post. But she takes a deep breath and steadies her gaze.

"Is there anything for an Everdeen?" She asks again.

He looks at her coolly, his grey eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. She feels self-conscious under his gaze, but doesn't flinch. It's a game they play, him trying to make her uncomfortable and her resisting as long as possible. He always ends the game with a slow shake of his head, like he knows how her heart breaks every time she walks back empty handed. Like he pities her for waiting for something that may never come. And she hates him for it. But she waits for him every day at the end of the drive all the same.

But today is different. His smirk softens into an almost smile. He shakes his head, but it's with laughter. The postman reaches into his bag and draws out a single envelope.

"Depends." He drawls, holding up the letter for her to see. "Are you K. Everdeen?"

Her throat is dry and her tongue is lead. She stares at the piece of mail in his hand in disbelief. Because as much as she had dared to hope, as much as she had prayed, a small part of her had never believed it would truly happen. That she would actually get a letter. Her hand reaches out to him, slow and trembling, like a child expecting to be tricked at any moment. He holds out the letter for her to take, his smile genuine now.

"Thank you." She says, her voice coming out as a breathy gasp. The postman simply nods in understanding. He remembers what it feels like to be left waiting.

She watches the truck putter down the road, off to deliver more mail. She knows she's one of the lucky ones today. Receiving news from the front, whether good or otherwise, is better than nothing. Anything is better than being left waiting.

She glances down at the envelope in her hand, at the careful handwriting that spells her name and address. It's his. It is unmistakably his. How many times has she watched his hand make those letters? How many times has he shown her how he can make her name his with just a scratch of his pen? She smiles at the memory and at the comfort just his handwriting brings her. And then her fingers begin to itch to open the letter. To tear open the envelope and devour the words that he wrote to her. So she tucks it into the breast pocket of her coat and begins to run.

Run through the woods to the spot where they agreed. Where she and Johanna and Madge had pledged to go every day after the post came, with or without news. They had been each other's support through the weeks, banishing evil thoughts and giving comfort when newspapers had brought news of despair. They shared their pain so it was only fair they share their joy as well, if they ever found reason to be happy.

Madge was the one who was most often happy. Her Tom had been deployed early and reported simply to the backlines. He wrote often with tales of camp and military life and, of course, words of love. At Madge's request he promised to keep a watch for their loved ones once they had been drafted. After weeks of no word, he had pointed out the front was a big place, but that he had no doubt they were alive. After all, he said, they had all survived growing up with Johanna; compared to that, war was a piece of cake. She and Madge had had a good laugh while Johanna had fumed and muttered about killing Tom herself when he came back.

But Johanna didn't need to have worried, apparently. Gale's letter arrived shortly after Tom's joke. The smile on Johanna's face could have lit up half the village when the postman handed her the letter. Never mind that the letter was short – he was supposed to be on duty, but he had promised her a letter – it was word. It was word that Gale was alive and healthy and of sound mind. And that was all Johanna needed to be the happiest girl in the village of Twelve.

So it had just been her, left to share her friends' joy at their letters. Left to help them craft words of love, disguised as news of home and boring stories of farm and housework, back to their brave men. Left to be comforted because she had yet to hear from her own beloved. Left to wait every day for the postman, only to trudge empty handed to the spot where the three of them met.

But today is different. Today, she has a letter. Today, she finally gets to read her own words of love and devotion, her own stories of the war front, her own window to his personal world without her. Today, she's not left waiting. And that thought spurs her to run faster through the fallen leaves of the woods.

She finally breaks through the brush. They're already there waiting for her. Madge is calm, her hands folded in her lap. Johanna restlessly paces, kicking at a pile of leaves around her. She looks up as she crashes through the woods towards them. She knows she's about to get a scolding for being late. She simply smiles and holds up her letter, effectively dismissing everything Johanna was about to say. Madge excitedly pulls her down to sit on the rock next to her, while Johanna bounces like an excited puppy.

"Come on, Catnip!" Johanna chides, playfully using Gale's nickname for her. She picked it up after he was drafted, determined to still feel like he was there. Madge slaps at their friend's arm, telling her to hush and let her take her time.

She simply stares out at the landscape listening to her friends bicker. Her heart flutters in her chest and something like nervousness takes hold of her. What if it's bad news? What if he's writing to tell her he's being sent off on a dangerous mission, with the odds not in his favor? What if he met someone else while marching through the foreign country? Someone who doesn't growl at him in the mornings and actually listens to what she's told? Her fingers tighten around the paper, crumpling it like the dead leaves around her. Breathe, she commands herself firmly. Just breathe. And before she can scare herself out of it anymore, she opens the envelope and fumbles with the letter inside.

_Katniss,_

Her eyes devour the word like a drowning man eats hungrily at the sweet air. The comfort his handwriting had brought her was nothing compared to the relief she experiences at reading that single word. Her name, wrapped up in his voice, soars through her mind like one of the planes he was flying.

_It seems like only a few days ago I was saying goodbye. I know in truth it has been much, much longer than a few simple days. And for that I am sorry. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to find the words the time to write to you. Believe me, it was not on purpose. My time on the war front has been a busy one, to say the least. I will try and recall it the best I can._

_After the train pulled my hand from yours and after I had hung out the window until I could no longer see the mountains of home, Gale and I had gone about the task of settling in. The car we were assigned to had been filled at Thirteen City. We were determined not to look too much like country boys, but even with the social graces our families' positions had provided us, we stuck out like a mockingjay in a flock of sparrows. The boys from Thirteen are a loud bunch but they trust me now, and I them. It's hard to believe we've only been together for four months. _

_Gale and I were separated at camp, but I trust you've already heard that from him. No doubt Johanna has received many a letter from her loyal man. He was busy scratching away at his first letter while we were on the train. Again, Katniss, I'm sorry I made you wait so long. Per my father's request, I was sorted into a band of boys who desperately wanted to fly. You know I'm perfectly content with keeping my boots firmly on the ground, preferably with my feet still in them, but I didn't tell anyone this. We went through a month of grueling physical training before even seeing anything that even looked like it could fly. In those first four weeks alone, half of our group was dismissed or left. As desperately as I want to return home to you, I know it can't be on the terms of a failure, so I stuck it out and worked for my wings. _

_Our group of pilots that began at a whole fifty men is now only fifteen. I've gained the rank of Captain and I'm consistently called into action. I hate getting into that cockpit, Katniss. I'm filled with fear every time my name is listed for a mission. They told us during training to forget our fear – it'd only get us killed – but I hold tight to mine. I'm not afraid of dying like some of my brothers, nor am I afraid of heights or flying or of facing our enemy. I'm afraid of never seeing your smile again. I'm afraid of never hearing your laugh again. Of never having you tease me, or scowl at me in the morning, or seeing you work in the house beside your sister. And so my fear drives me to complete my mission, to land my plane safely, to protect my men, because I know if I don't I will be held here longer than my sentence orders. If I let go of my fear, I may never see you again. And I am not willing to let that happen anytime in my life. _

_I very rarely have time to myself anymore. No more sneaking off to sit by the pond with you. Everything in the military is strictly business. Even sleeping is regulated to a precise amount. The fact that I'm writing this letter makes some of my men uneasy. A solider with free time is never a good thing. Perhaps after I receive your letter I'll make myself sick, so I'll have lots of time to write you letters. Wouldn't you like that? I could write you every day if I was on sick leave. Just say the word, Katniss, and I'll let a plane drive over my foot. _

_I hope everyone at home is well. Is Prim still growing? If she needs new shoes again, you must tell Father. Is your mother doing well? The autumn air always did bother her. I hope you aren't getting into trouble while I'm gone. You have to keep your nose clean, now that I'm not always there to protect you from Mother. But I know you are. You probably do it anyways, just to spite her. You were always like that. _

_I miss you. I love you. Write me back soon, okay? I'll keep my promise, as long as you keep yours. _

_I love you._

_I love you, Katniss._

_Always yours,_

_Peeta _

"See," Madge says, poking her in the ribs "I told you he wasn't dead."

"Are you sure?" Johanna gags, scrunching her face. "All that sap could drown a fly. Katniss, you know you're in love with a thirteen-year-old girl, right?"

Chuckling, she shakes her head. She's too happy to pay attention to her friend's barb. With a sigh, she looks up at the sky. It's painted a bright blue; the kind only autumn can bring to contrast so well with the colors on the trees. She images Peeta flying through that sky back to her.

He promised to come back to her. She has no doubt he'll keep that promise either. Reaching into her pocket, she plays with the small metal band. She carries it everywhere with her, now that he's gone. It's a small piece of him, something that symbolizes both their promises: his to return, and hers to wait till he does. She doesn't mind waiting. Just so long as there are days like today, with letters and words of love.


	16. All's Fair

**Howdy there! Merry December. Yeah, yeah, I know, I didn't post one in November. My bad. In my ****defense though, I did have a broken wrist. Let's see you try typing for long periods of time like a T-rex cause your hand's in a cast. Term papers, not fun. AAAAAaaannnyyyways, I'll put up two this month I promise. Cross my heart.**

**So this is pure fluff. Like Almost literally. Or as literal as a fanfic can get. (I still don't own Hunger Games. Get your head checked if you believe otherwise) There's no SoI for this one, just an idea I had. Although the original idea was calmer than what this turned into... Whatever. Uh Setting for this is sometime after MJ. **

**So Standard Rules Apply! I'm still going with my review quota-thing that I said last time. Five, I'll get it up in a month (even though I'm putting up two this month), ten, it'll be two weeks, and twenty I'll get it up by the end of next week. Deal? Deal.**

**Read, Review, Add to Favorites/Alert Lists! Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>All's Fair<strong>

I'm halfway through my page when a bowl suddenly appears on top of my book. The corner of my eye twitches in my annoyance; the hero was about to make a confession. My eyes follow the rim of the bowl, up the handle of the spoon, and latch on the treacherous hand that had officially ruined my mood. The fingers of said hand wiggle and flick flour on my nose. I cough and glare up at the owner of those fingers.

"What?" I snap, scowling at his smiling blue eyes. His stupid smile seems to grow a bit at my growl. He leans forward till his nose is almost touching mine. I try not to blink too much and fight down a blush. He has that salt and flour smell, the one that's always tinted with strawberries that tells me he's been baking. And something about that mischievous grin tells me he has a plan. A plan about this baking project he's been doing all afternoon.

"What?" I ask again, less aggressively this time but still frowning. He simply keeps staring me in the eye and smiling that stupid smile.

"Peeta."

His eyebrows rise in playful questioning.

"Peeta, I'm reading." I huff.

"No you're not."

My eye twitches again. I struggle not to rudely shove his face away from mine. He knows what he's doing. I know he knows. Because that stupid grin keeps growing. So I take a calming breath and try not to cough on the flour in the air.

"I _was _reading," I clarify, "before _someone _rudely interrupted me."

"Who would do a thing like that?" He asks. The innocence in his voice is betrayed by the playful glint in his eye. My fingers begin to twitch. Breathe, Katniss.

"Peeta," I growl, "what do you want?"

Peeta bounces up and away from me at my question. The mischief in his smile has been completely erased by pure joy and excitement. I blink in surprise at his reaction before I feel the corners of my own mouth tilt up.

He grabs the mixing bowl off my book and presents it to me proudly, as if it's a box of gold.

"I'm going to teach you to bake!"

My smile disappears at his announcement and is replaced by what I'm sure is an expression of utter shock. Me, bake? The idea is so absurd I almost have to laugh. But I don't, because I know it would hurt him more than anything I could say.

"I don't think so."

"Come on." He says, giving my arm a poke. "It'll be fun!"

"Right." I agree sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Just like last time was 'fun'."

He dismisses my words with a wave of his hand. "Last time, we tried something difficult."

I give him a skeptic look. Last time we tried brownies. The result was me almost setting the oven on fire and chocolate splattered on surfaces I didn't even know existed in our kitchen. I even found some on the ceiling fan in our living room. Peeta swears it was a fluke, lack of practice, but I wasn't so sure.

"No." I tell him, going back to my book.

"Come on, Katniss!"

"No."

Suddenly, my book vanishes. I stare at my now empty hands before narrowing my eyes at him again. He's got my book raised above his head like a schoolyard bully. Only his eyes are bright with a challenge, that stupid dopey grin still plastered on his face.

"Peeta, give me my book back."

"Not until you bake with me." He shoots back, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Give it back!"

I lunge for it but he's too quick. He darts back into the kitchen, my book tucked under one arm, his bowl of batter under the other. I try not to completely growl as I chase after him. The corners of my lips threaten to turn into something more pleasant than a scowl as we skid into the kitchen, but I fight it. I can't let him see that maybe I'm enjoying this.

We run in circles for a minute or so, his bare feet giving him the advantage on the hard wood floors against my socks. He knows this, bouncing off the counters, leaving me to crash against them from my lack of traction. His smile fades, though, once his strategy backfires.

My book is still tucked under Peeta's arm. He waits for me to lunge again, ready to skip out of my way. But I'm prepared this time. I slide cleanly and slam my shoulder into his chest. His breath leaves him in a whoosh, his body hitting the counter behind us. I lean forward, placing both my hands on the counter, trapping him completely.

We take a second to catch our breath. His chest rises, almost meeting mine in our closeness, before falling back into place. Peeta casts a glance down to my hand. He's impressed and a little surprised I caught him, but that dopey smile is still stuck on his face. I tilt my head at him and give him a triumphant look.

"Now," I say, "I'd like my book back."

Peeta sighs playfully before reaching for the book still under his arm. Or, at least, that's what I think until my world goes white.

He bounds away, cackling like a madman, while I paw at my eyes.

"You are so dead!" I promise, running after him again. He laughs and hurls another ball of flour at my face. I grab the mixing bowl full of dough and find shelter behind a chair.

It's not until after our kitchen has been covered in flour, dough, and a little bit of icing do I actually manage to trap Peeta successfully. We're on the floor, me straddling his chest and pinning his shoulders underneath my hands. He slipped on some stray icing and I toppled after him.

"I win." I smirk down at him.

"Nope." he replies, shaking his head. Flour flies into the air as his head moves. We're both covered in it, unsurprisingly. My eyebrows shoot up skeptically.

"Yes." I tell him. My book is somewhere back in the living room. I won it during the battle over the table. Peeta's arm still wears the blue frosting as evidence of my victory.

"No." He argues. His arm pulls me into his lap as he sits upright. That smile, that ever present dopey smile, is practically blinding. Cupping my face in his hands he wipes away some of the my own battle scars. His smile turns somewhat devious as he licks his fingers clean.

"I baked myself a wonderful treat."


	17. Let It Snow

**Happy New Year! Hope your 2012 was a good year! And what a better way to send off the New Year with a one shot? There wasn't anything in particular that inspired this one, other than just the whole kinda Christmas spirit. Or holiday spirit. The one that makes everyone crazy happy and nice to one another. So no SoI**

**Read, Review, and add to your Favorites/Alerts! Enjoy! :]**

* * *

><p><strong>Let it Snow<strong>

"Dad! Dad, look!"

I look up at my daughter's cries. She's bouncing at the window, blue eyes wide. Her small hands are latched on to the windowsill, keeping her grounded in her excitement.

"Dad!" She calls again, this time more insistent.

"What is it?"

"Come here!" She orders in a happy whine. I chuckle and wipe my hands clean on my apron. I'm not moving fast enough for her, though, and she runs over to me. She pouts at me briefly before tugging hard at my hand, smile back in place.

"Isn't it pretty?" She asks in wonder, looking back out the window. I lift her up on to my shoulders, laughing at the sight of her awe.

She's right of course. The snow falling, drifting about in the wind, and decorating District 12 all in white makes everything look beautiful. Big fat flakes pile up in the street, and patter against the glass. We stand there for a little, watching the snow flutter about until I catch sight of my watch.

"It's getting late." I say, shrugging my shoulders, bouncing her up and down. She giggles and shrieks in mirth, grabbing on to my ears for balance. "We'd better go if we want to finish before dark."

She nods before pulling on my ears, steering me back to the kitchen. My bakery is filled with small bags of treats neatly tied up with string. The two of us together have been working for days on this project ever since she got the idea. She loves to bake and help me ice cakes, but she loves giving out gifts even more. So now, we have enough for all the children in 12 and their parents to have a sweet treat for the solstice.

She kicks lightly at my shoulders, eager to get to work. Once she's on the ground again she takes off running. Grabbing bags and throwing them on to the sled, she makes her way around the kitchen. I move slower, my leg stiff in the cold, as I recount the bags. Her brother tried to help yesterday, but ended up just with a mouthful of cookies and string tied around his fingers. I wanted to make sure we still had enough after his snack attack.

"Dawn," she looks up at my call. She's ready to go, coat zipped up and fingers tight around the rope to her sled. I smile at her, amazed once again how much she looks like her mom with her jaw set and impatient gaze. I hold up my hand, swinging her hat between my thumb and forefinger.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

She blushes slightly, embarrassed at her haste.

"Thanks, Daddy." She mumbles, tugging her hat down to cover her eyes. When her baby blues reappear, she beams up at me and flings her arms around my middle.

"Now, let's go!" She cheers a moment later, throwing her hands up in the air. I laugh, shaking my head as she rockets out the door, sled trailing behind her. A couple bags of cookies go airborne as she rounds the corner outside the bakery. I call for her to be careful, but she doesn't hear me. She's already halfway down the road, singing a solstice song at the top of her lungs.

It's not until after we've delivered all of the bags that her energy runs out. Collapsed in the empty sled, she cheers for me to go faster as I pull her behind me. We laugh as the snow flies around us, flakes falling and small snowballs thrown back and forth. By the time we reach the old Victor's Village, Dawn is quiet in her fatigue, happily staring up into the dark sky and watching the snow fall.

Katniss is at the door, our son at her side. His cheeks are red and his pant legs and socks are wet. Katniss has to hold him by the shoulders to keep him inside when he sees us. Both our children have seemed to inherit her haste for things to happen. Only problem is he's very forgetful as well.

"Dad!" He calls from the front step. "Daddy, it's snowing!"

"We know, Thatch!" Dawn answers in my place. I look over my shoulder at her and recognize the exasperated patience that I so often see on her mother's face.

"Dawn," Katniss scolds softly, "be nice to your brother."

"I was being nice." Dawn mumbles under her breath. I chuckle and usher her inside. Thatch chatters happily at us about his day as we take off our boots and warm clothes. Katniss is quiet, shaking her head as our son drags his sister away to show her something. She leans into me, burrowing her face into my sweater.

"I missed you today." I hear her say. My arms pull her closer to me, and she snuggles against my chest. "It's stupid. You were only gone for a couple hours."

"So?" I shrug. "I missed you, too."

She laughs softly before giving me a slow kiss. Her grey eyes shine up at me as we spend a moment in the hall, reveling in our two minutes of solitude. But it's not for long. I feel a gentle pull at my leg and look down at a different pair of grey eyes.

"You wanna see my snowman?" Thatch asks shyly around his thumb.

I smile and bend down to lift him up onto my back. Dawn comes racing up to us, grabbing her mother's hand only to drag her into the kitchen. Thatch wraps his small arms around my neck and I give him a squeeze before joining the rest of my family in our happiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Dawn is for the new hope in their life and Thatch is short for Thatcher, which I just liked the sound of.<strong>

**P.S. Review! Seriously, the box is like, right there...**


	18. I'll Be Home

**Howdy! Got this one up nice and quick for you all. I'm quite proud of myself, actually. Yey, for actually being productive during break! Love break. Especially when you have almost a month and a half worth of it. It's wonderful. Lots of sleep, lots of writing, lots of reading. **

**So, this one was actually going to be my Christmasy update, but obviously it wasn't ready in time. The SoI for this one is "I'll Be Home For Christmas", as corny as that may be. To be fair, I'm making this one essentially the second part to "I Will Wait". Same era, same AU; Peeta's off at war and Katniss is waiting for him at home. I liked that idea a lot, so I made them a happy, fluffy ending. You don't actually need the words for the song to understand this. Just the title. Or really, just the first three words of the title. There's really not much that's Christmasy about this...**

**On another, but not very different note: I'm wrapping up this collection. I've decided it's time to finish up with Katniss and Peeta. Don't get me wrong, I love writing them, I do. But it has to end somewhere, and I think 20 one shots is a nice round, even number. I have the last two in mind and I'm working on them now. I want them to be absolutely perfect for you guys, so I'm not sure if they'll be up within the next month. They will, however, be put up together. **

**So, please remember to review and/or add to your Favorites/Alerts. Every single one of you makes my day when I see those notifications. And without further ado, please enjoy! :]**

* * *

><p><strong>I'll Be Home<strong>

"Girl!"

She flinches at the woman's shrill. It carries through the house like a siren, harshly ringing against the windows and walls of the manor. The title is vague but she knows the woman is calling for her. She's the only one that can earn a shrill like that. She catches Prim's eye and sees the same question she herself is thinking.

What did she do this time?

"Girl!" Comes another shriek. Quickly, she mentally runs through her day. Breakfast went smoothly, if you didn't count the mix-up with the tea. She went to town and came back with only two broken eggs this time. Greasy Sae didn't let her touch the midday meal, so there was no way anything went wrong there. And she had been quietly polishing the silver with Prim since then. Really, there was nothing to be blamed for.

Still, she feels as if she's forgetting something. It's not the milk; she got that while at the market. The chickens are all in the coop since the snow began falling. And the post doesn't come on Sundays, so there was no need to go wait out on the road or in the woods today.

It's probably nothing, she reasons as the mistress of the house calls again. Heaving a tired sigh, she puts the bowl she had been working on back on the shelf.

"Better go see what she wants," Prim says softly, grinning up from her own polishing. She simply rolls her eyes as she stretches her arms above her head.

"Probably just remembered she hasn't told me I'm a child from hell yet today," she mumbles, shaking her head.

"Katniss," Prim scolds, but the small smile ruins the effect. "Besides," she shrugs, "she called you a traitor yesterday. Not a hell-child."

She chuckles before giving an affirming nod. Quickly checking her appearance in the reflection of the window, she places an affectionate hand on her sister's shoulder before going to present herself to her mistress in the sitting room.

"Good evening, Mrs. Mellark," she greets with a bow. Mrs. Mellark barely looks up from her book to acknowledge her. She feels her good mood vanish as her temper flares. The woman just disrupted the entire household with her yells and yet she's indifferent to her presence. Instead, the mistress waves her hand, summoning another servant. Ripper suddenly appears besides her, presenting her a shovel, a bow tied neatly around the handle.

"Merry Christmas," Ripper grumbles sarcastically with a shrug. "The mistress wishes you use your gift on the drive."

"The drive?" She repeats in shock. It had been snowing had since the early morning – there had to be at least twelve centimeters on the ground already. And the front drive was massive.

"Before it gets too dark, dear," Mrs. Mellark orders coolly, sipping at her tea. Her cold blue eyes flicker up to stare into her own grey ones, letting her know there is no room for negotiation. She clenches her jaw in frustration. The sun is due to set in an hour.

"Yes ma'am," she growls, bowing once more before storming out of the room.

* * *

><p>She gasps for breath, leaning on the shovel for support. Her nose is numb and she can't feel her fingertips or her toes, but she shed her coat twenty minutes ago. Even if it was a complete waste of time, shoveling at least kept her warm.<p>

She tried not to think about the hour she just wasted. It was snowing harder now. The twenty meters of the drive she had just finished is now covered in a fine layer of fluffy snow, mocking her as she works. Panting, she looks up the hill at the rest of the drive. It never used to feel this long, she thinks, picking up the shovel again. She swears it's never been this long. She should know; she's run up the gravel road to the top of the hill everyday since he's been gone.

Peeta. He's been gone for almost two years now and she misses him more with every passing day. His letters are few and far in between thanks to his work as an officer, but they still come. But even still, they're not the same to having him there with her.

His words assure her he'll come back someday. It used to be that's all she needed. That simple sentence, those simple words were all it took to reassure her. She would wait for someday. And she still will. But more and more, she wishes someday was today. That she'd look up from her work in the kitchen or in the parlor to see him standing in the door, smiling at her and waiting for her to jump into his arms. That instead of running for the postbox at the top of the hill, she'd be running to meet him.

Shaking her head, she throws another shovelful to the side. Stupid, she's being so stupid. There's no point in feeling sorry for herself. Just because Gale and Tom had come back before Christmas didn't mean that there wasn't still a war going on. Panem still needed soldiers to fight. And Peeta was an officer. They wouldn't let him go if they still needed him. Which they did, of course. It wasn't every day you came across a captain who could fly a plane better than almost any pilot the military had ever seen.

She shakes her head at the memory. The papers had called him daring, reckless even, in his flying capabilities. She nearly had a heart attack when the postman had handed her a military telegram instead of a letter. Thank god it had only been to tell the family he was being awarded a medal. Her Peeta was a war hero and still they wouldn't let him come home to her.

The drive was halfway done now. She scowled down the hill at the house. More exactly, the woman she knew to be sitting by the window in the same chair she had seen her in earlier. There was no way Mrs. Mellark wasn't watching her progress, judging her, preparing harsh words to criticize her when she came back in. Fuming, she scooped up some snow only to lob it down at the house. She knew it was pointless to be wasting time throwing snowballs, especially since they would never reach their intended target, but it did make her feel a little better.

Now even more tired, she looks up into the sky. Her breath escapes her in short pants, sending little clouds up to meet the falling snow. She closes her eyes, letting the feel of the cold flakes calm her as they land on her cheeks. They used to do this together, she remembers. They'd sneak out the back door and stare up into the night sky. He'd hold her, her back against his chest, as they watched the snow fall like stars. Scowling, she grabs at her shovel. Her chest hurt and she blinks hard at the moisture in her eyes.

Stupid. Just stupid.

Growling, she reaches the top of the drive. True, everything she had shoveled was again covered in snow, but at least there was less of it. And she was out of the house. No one to yell at her out here. Nothing for her to mess up.

Sighing, she wraps her arms around herself to keep warm. Mrs. Mellark would've demanded a fire by now. Dinner had probably been served too, her stomach reminded her. Hopefully, Prim had saved something for her. Even if it was only a little bit of bread. Heaving another sigh, she closes her eyes and bit her lip. She'd have to go in eventually. Into the house that he no longer lived in.

In her mind, she pictures him there with her, staring up into the sky. His arms tight around her waist, his breath tickling her ear. That wonderful smell of strawberries and flour combined with the sharp scent of his aftershave filling her every time she breathed in. She could almost feel him behind her, holding her as they stood up on the hill.

"I miss you," she breathes to the sky.

"I missed you, too."

She jumps in surprise. She could've sworn she heard his voice. But it couldn't be so. He's still overseas. It sounded so much like him, though. She feels her eyes beginning to tear again. Her mind is too cruel, playing tricks in the dark. Pawing at her eyes, she begins to make her way back down the hill when she hears it again.

"Katniss."

It's barely there, the sound being swallowed by the snow, but she hears it. That voice. That low voice he only uses when they're alone together. The one that sends tingles all the way to her toes and makes her breath catch in her throat. She draws in a shaky breath, closing her eyes again, and wonders if she's really dreaming the whole thing. Maybe her fantasies have finally invaded her reality.

"Katniss."

She begins to shake when she feels him behind her. Really, it's just too much. It's bad enough she has to dream of him every night only to be disappointed in the morning. She doesn't need her dreams following her when she's awake. Life can't be that cruel, can it?

She feels his arms around her, pulling her to him. Tears slowly fall down her face, her breath coming in shattered gasps. Her hands go to cover her mouth in an attempt to restore some sort of composure. The feel of his body against hers, his cheek nuzzling her neck as he kisses her just underneath her ear – it's all too much. Too much to handle.

"Katniss," he whispers in her ear, "it's me."

She tilts her face up, wanting to believe, wanting to really see him there. And he is. Blonde hair neatly tucked into his hat, soft freckles decorating the area under his eyes, his face beams down at her. Her voice leaves her with a small whimper of happiness as his lips curl into a smile.

"It's me, Katniss," he says, blue eyes shining. "I'm back."

Those little words break the spell over her and bring her to reality. Slowly, she turns in his arms and lifts her face to his. His mouth covers hers softly, delicately, as his hands cup her cheeks. She's laughing when they part, sniveling and gasping in between tears, but still laughing as she wraps her arms around him. He rubs her nose against hers, whispering her name and wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

"I missed you," she murmurs once she's found her voice again. "I missed you so much."

He smiles, kissing her lips again. "I love you," he breathes, his lips brushing against hers with the words. She smiles up at him, shining and beautiful, before resting her head against his chest.

He came home. He kept his promise like he said. And she kept hers. No more waiting.


	19. Don't Leave Me

**Hey guys, sorry this took so long but, here it is! The beginning of the end. Like I promised, I wrote the last two together and boy howdy, was it a struggle. Something in me just didn't want to do it. I just didn't want it to end. That and I could not for the life of me write what I wanted to write. Plus, Life events got in the way and we all know how that plays out.**

**So this one's angsty, cause I've done so much fluff I figured I needed a good balance here and there. Based off P!nk's "Please Don't Leave Me", cause I love that song. It's kinda short, but I feel like it does you all justice. Set after MJ but it's a little weird. Just imagine that the districts are having a really hard time after the rebellion, what with the new government and way of life, and everything is not all happy-ending quite yet. And it's from Peeta's POV! He's easier for me to write this kinda angst for. Dunno why, but not gonna question it.**

**Da da da**  
><strong>da da da da<strong>

**Da da da da da,**

**I don't know if I can yell any louder,**  
><strong>How many times have I kicked you out of here?<strong>  
><strong>Or said something insulting?<strong>

**Da da da da da**

**I can be so mean when I wanna be,**  
><strong>I am capable of really anything,<strong>  
><strong>I can cut you into pieces,<strong>  
><strong>When my heart is, broken.<strong>

**Da da da da da**

**Please don't leave me _[x2]_**  
><strong>I always say how I don't need you<strong>  
><strong>But it's always gonna come right back to this<strong>  
><strong>Please don't leave me<strong>

**How did I become so obnoxious,**  
><strong>What is it with you that makes me act like this,<strong>  
><strong>I've never been this nasty,<strong>  
><strong>Can't you tell that this is all just a contest?<strong>  
><strong>The one that wins will be the one that hits the hardest,<strong>  
><strong>But baby I don't mean it,<strong>  
><strong>I mean it, I promise<strong>

**Da da da da da**

**Please don't leave me _[x2]_**  
><strong>(Don't leave me)<strong>  
><strong>I always say how I don't need you<strong>  
><strong>But it's always gonna come right back to this<strong>  
><strong>Please don't leave me<strong>

**I forgot to say out loud,**  
><strong>How beautiful you really are to me,<strong>  
><strong>I can't be without,<strong>  
><strong>You're my perfect little punching bag,<strong>  
><strong>And I need you,<strong>  
><strong>I'm sorry.<strong>

**Da da da da**  
><strong>da da da da<strong>

**Da da da da da**

**Please, please don't leave me**  
><strong>Baby, please don't leave me (no, don't leave me)<strong>  
><strong>Please don't leave me<strong>  
><strong>(I always say) I always say how I don't need you<strong>  
><strong>But it's always gonna come right back to this<strong>

**Please don't leave me, (Yeah)**  
><strong>Please don't leave me<strong>  
><strong>(I) I always say how I don't need you,<strong>  
><strong>But it's always gonna come right back to this,<strong>  
><strong>(Please, Please) Please don't leave me,<strong>  
><strong>Baby, please, please don't leave me.<strong>

**The very last one will be out tomorrow. Promise-swear. In the meantime, please review and/or add to your F****avorites/Alerts. OH! And since the website has this new fancy cover-art thing, does anybody have any fan art they'd be willing to let me use? I can't draw worth shit and I don't particularly want to steal off the internet. Just PM me. **

**With that said, please enjoy! :]**

* * *

><p><strong>Don't Leave Me<strong>

I sit in the chair next to her, watching as the healer woman works. It's late, the woman tells me, hinting at me to go rest. I don't move, though. I can't move. I just watch as she works on the girl lying on the bed.

She looks so small, so fragile like that. Unmoving and unconscious, with her face bruised and swollen. I've seen her like this before in the Games, but this time it's different.

No one really knows what happened. I don't even know. Tom said he found her like this in the street, lying face down and broken in the rain. It's not the first time they've seen this, he tells me. I believe him. I've seen it too. But it's the first time it's ever been this personal.

I stroke her hair out of her face, needing to touch her, to feel her skin just to remind myself that she's alive. My mind replays the last time I saw her this morning. She had gotten up early to spend the day hunting, her grey eyes as dark as the sky as she scowled at the rain. I tried pulling her back into bed with me. She had simply given me one of those rare hesitant smiles and kissed me before walking out the door.

That was only this morning. It's only been a day. I run a hand over my face, covering my mouth. There are so many questions, so many things I need to know, but I don't trust myself to speak. I'm afraid I'll break down if I do. And the last thing I need is a relapse right now. Especially if she's not here to bring me back.

The healer woman straightens up, stretching as she does so. She's young, maybe a few years older than me and has the luxury of looking so. Her voice is soft, telling me the trouble. Her foot's been broken, along with a couple ribs. Luckily, her hands have been spared. She'd never be the same if she couldn't hold a bow. I freeze when I hear she's suffered some head trauma. She might have to be moved. She might not wake up. But she's alive.

The healer places a hand on my shoulder and gives me what I think is supposed to be a comforting smile. I try and smile back, but my face doesn't work quite right. The woman seems to understand though, giving my shoulder a squeeze and offering some words of comfort. And then she's gone, leaving me alone in the room with the girl on the bed.

Not quite alone, though. There's a mewling at my feet as Buttercup reminds me he's there too. He blinks slowly at me, his tail moving languidly side to side. I just stare back at the cat, meeting his yellow eyes and suddenly feeling the need to apologize to him. She's the last thing remaining of his family, the only thing left of his old master. He's never liked me as much as her. And now I think he likes me less.

"I'm sorry," I croak, my voice low. The cat just blinks, judging me with those yellow eyes. I reach for him, only to be met with a warning growl before he jumps up next to her. Still watching me, he lays down beside her, protecting her like he used to. He growls at me again when I reach for her hand, but doesn't move from his position.

I draw my thumb over the back of her hand, slowly caressing it like so many times before. Her fingers twitch and for a moment I'm filled with hope. But her eyes are still closed and her face still and my heart falls. I shake my head at myself. It wouldn't be that easy and this isn't a fairy tale. True love's kiss doesn't exactly work like that. Still, I kiss her knuckles and pray for a miracle.

It's only when I feel something wet on her hand against my lips that I realize I'm crying. Slow, cold tears that just come as I sit holding her hand. I squeeze her fingers just a little tighter, feeling her pulse under my own. It's faint, fluttering like a butterfly in her veins. I take a shuddering breath of my own, feeling my own life dwindle. I can't be without her. She's my reason for Life. Not living but Life.

"Please," I whisper through my tears, "please don't leave me."

But she doesn't answer. And that breaks me even more.


	20. Starting Off

**Starting Off**

I watch as her fingers fumble with the laces. Her tongue poking out between her lips, her blue eyes narrow at the thin pieces of fabric in a look of pure concentration. I sit patiently in front of her, watching as she carefully weaves them together. She's been practicing all week for this, ever since her father told her it was a tradition, and she's determined to get it right.

"Dawn," I call softly and smile as she looks warily up at me. "Do you want help?"

She scowls, a look that tells the world she is undoubtedly mine. "No," she answers shortly, stubbornly focusing on her laces again. "I can do it." I nod and sit back to watch her slowly, cautiously begin to tie her shoes. Five minutes later, she makes a sound of triumph. She wiggles her feet in front of her, leaning back on her hands to admire her handiwork.

"See?" Her blue eyes gleam up at me with an _I-told-you-so _smile.

"Perfect," I agree, poking her nose. It wrinkles cutely in protest and that smile is replaced with a pout.

"Mom," she whines and gives me an adorable scowl, "stop it."

I roll my eyes and do it again for good measure. Again, her face scrunches up as she bats away my hand. She grumbles under her breath at me, scowling, before her little pink tongue pokes out at me. I mirror her expression, showing her how a true expert does things. Soon though, we're both giggling at each other in our silliness.

"Dawn!" Peeta calls from the kitchen. "Your breakfast is ready!"

She's gone in a flash, skidding on the hardwood in her haste. I chuckle to myself and follow suit. We're in the age of favorites, and right now, breakfast is her favorite thing in the world. Especially when her father makes it.

Dawn sits on her chair, legs folded under her to give herself extra height over the table. Her brother sits next to her, his grey eyes barely peeking out over the table. He refused to sit in his chair or sit on a book or two. He's a big boy, he told us around his thumb. Which means sitting like his sister does at the table – without any help. He doesn't seem to mind that he can barely see his plate though.

Peeta practically glides over with the silent grace of an Avox, wielding a spatula and frying pan. Our children bounce excitedly in their seats. Thatch waves a hand in the air, silently asking for his food. Dawn simply watches with wide eyes as Peeta shovels a fluffy pancake on to her plate. His blue eyes meet mine before jumping to the pan and back to me. I shake my head to his question, but Thatch will have none of it.

"Mama," he calls quietly, the sound muffled by his hand. He points a small finger at Dawn's plate. "You eat."

"I'm not hungry, Thatcher," I try to say, but he won't have any of it.

Standing up in his chair, he leans across the table to grab his sister's pancake before flopping it down on the table in front of me. I blink at the sticky mass before catching Peeta's eye. He's biting the inside of his cheek and trying to keep that goofy grin of his in check. It's only when we hear the warning growls of our daughter that we begin to sober up.

"Thatch!" She explodes, pounding her fist on the table.

The little boy innocently looks up, clear grey meeting stormy blue, his mouth pulled into a confused frown. His thumb returns to it's hiding place between his lips as he watches his sister sputter and growl.

"Mama eat," he says simply, using logic as only a toddler can. And I have to laugh.

Peeta's there to rescue the situation, lightly scolding our son and giving Dawn another pancake. She just glares silently, leaning protectively over her food as eats. I clean up the sticky mess in front of me. Thatcher nibbles on his pancake, watching his sister with wide eyes. Soon, his cheeks and chin are covered in syrup and dotted with small crumbs. His fingers stick to the table and his shirt, successfully making himself and everything on his corner of the table a complete mess.

The clock in my study begins to chime. I watch as my daughter's eyes become as wide as her breakfast. She looks up in the direction of the hallway, as if she can see the clock from where she sits. And then she's gone, jumping out of her chair and taking off down the hallway.

"Dad!" She calls shrilly. "Dad, where's my bag?"

"It's in your room," Peeta calmly answers from the kitchen.

We hear her dash up the stairs. I cringe slightly at her heavy footfalls. We've been practicing hunting, but obviously not enough. A dramatic sigh reaches my ears and I look at my son. His grey eyes are glued to the ceiling, the small frown back on his sticky face.

"Too loud," he sighs again, heaving his shoulders comically.

I share a look with Peeta. He frowns before cocking an eyebrow at me. I raise mine back teasingly and hide my smile behind my teacup.

Dawn comes racing back in, her blue eyes wide as she gasps for breath. Her small backpack bounces on her back, hanging open in her forgetfulness and excitement. She stands at attention in the center of our kitchen, gazing at us expectantly and with a bit of panic.

"We're going to be late!" She tells us, pointing somewhere behind her. Peeta nods along good naturedly, fishing out a wet rag from the sink. He holds it up for her to see and she obediently sticks out her hands. Grumbling about how she already washed, she wipes her hands clean and practically throwing it back to him when she's done.

"Late!" She reminds us, chastising as we still take our time cleaning up.

Only Thatcher picks up on her haste. Chubby, sticky fingers wrap around my hand, giving it a hard tug to get my attention. His eyes dart between his sister and myself, puzzlement clear in his gaze. I simply wipe at his face with the wet rag.

Finally, we make it out the door, Peeta being practically dragged by his little girl. Jaw set and scowl in place, she marches down the street towards the new school building. Her brother toddles along behind her, keeping up as best as he can on his little legs. I'm at the end of our little parade, taking my time and enjoying the morning sun. Our march stops at the edge of the schoolyard. Silently, we watch as other children say good-bye to their parents for the next few hours before disappearing inside. Watching them, I remember my very first day of school. I glance at Peeta standing beside me and the look in his eye tells me he's thinking of the same thing.

"Mom," Dawn's quiet voice catches my attention. She peers up at me, suddenly nervous. I kneel down in front of her, putting my hands on her arms.

"You'll be fine," I say, soothing her the best I know how. "You like learning, remember?"

"I like learning your stuff," she mumbles, looking at her shoes. "I don't like letters."

"Letters aren't hard," Peeta says, kneeling down next to me. "And you like to read. You read all the time at home."

Dawn shakes her head, her braid swinging behind her. "I can't read," she insists. "I just know the stores you tell from The Book."

"Uncle Finnick!" Thatcher agrees.

I smile softly. "Then you'll learn new ones. And you can come home and tell them to me and Daddy."

She frowns, thinking this over, but still not convinced.

"You get to sing."

Her eyes light with excitement again at Peeta's simple fact. She loves singing even more than breakfast. There's never a quiet moment in our house between me and her and occasionally Thatcher. She looks to me, her eyes wide with question. I can't help but smile as I nod in confirmation. And that's all it takes.

With a quick hug to my middle and a kiss on her father's cheek, Dawn runs off to join her new classmates. Her shirt is untucked in the back as she runs and my heart gives a funny jump. She turns at the door to wave one last time and disappears into the school.

Suddenly, I'm worried. Will she like school? Will she make friends? She's so like Peeta that I can't believe she won't, but she is also my daughter. What will they tell her in this new school? What will she learn about the world? Will they teach her about our history? About the other districts? About the Games our society used to play? About me? She knows I've seen people die, but for now, that's all she knows. Will she think of me differently when she learns what I've done?

Peeta holds my hand and gives me one of those comforting smiles. "She'll be fine," he assures me. "Everything will be fine."

I nod and lean in to him, welcoming his warmth. Yes, I tell myself, she'll be fine. They won't scare her with my story. Not yet. She's just starting off. Just like us.

* * *

><p><strong>And with that, I'm off to press the "complete" button for this collection. I've had so much fun writing Katniss and Peeta and I'm a little sad I have to stop. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Thank you to everyone who added this story to their Favorites and Alerts. And a big <strong>Thank you to everyone for reading and following me on this little project of mine. May the odds be ever in your favor!<strong>**

****~gracling42****


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